


Shadowhunters 2.0. - Dive

by enkelimagnus



Series: Shadowhunters 2.0. [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec & Izzy Parabatai, Alternate Universe - Canon, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Isabelle Lightwood, Canon-Compliant Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Discrimination Against Downworlders, Downworlder Politics, Drug Addiction, F/F, Genocidal Ideas, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Biphobia, Lesbian Clary Fray, M/M, Multi, Pansexual Simon Lewis, Shadowhunter Politics, Shadowhunters Rewrite, Slurs, Suicide Attempt, Torture, basically most of the violent moments of the show are kept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 230,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: Girl met girl. Girl learned she was the daughter of the evilest character in the Shadow World. And now, Girl has to deal with the repercussions of her and her friends' actions.The aftermath of Jace's decision to go with Valentine pushes the Clave to bring in new authority. As Valentine's army gets bigger and his plans gets clearer, Clary, Isabelle and Alec find themselves in the middle of a war. Newly formed relationships are tested by the weakened balanced between Nephilim and Shadow KindsAs Clary dives deeper than ever in the Shadow World, she discovers that her identity and place in this world are much more complex than she expected.---------------A rewrite of Season 2A of Shadowhunters, following the rewrite of Season 1 in Shadowhunters 2.0. - Discovery
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Maia Roberts
Series: Shadowhunters 2.0. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300340
Comments: 52
Kudos: 108





	1. This Guilty Blood Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I am absolutely delighted to be back with Season 2A of the Shadowhunters Rewrite: Dive. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for waiting through the hiatus as I was putting together this second installment of the Shadowhunters 2.0. series!
> 
> I was actually wondering whether to keep it called Shadowhunters 2.0., or whether it should get a new, snazzy and fun YA name like... The Hidden Powers? 
> 
> I want to thank my wonderful betas: @holygayrchie/IndigoDream, Echele78 and @biconicfinn, and all the people who have helped me on this wonderful journey that is the Shadowhunters Rewrite Season 2A.
> 
> Everyone I know probably is tired of hearing me talk about this every waking hour so... let's just do this okay?
> 
> Settle in, beautiful readers, because shit is about to get gay... er.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter features some very intense homophobia, including several possibly triggering slurs. Please stay safe.
> 
> It starts shortly after: “Pull up the waterways around New York.” Alec ordered, and Izzy opened the map. 
> 
> Nothing was showing up. Nothing, but empty waterways, and it was driving Alec insane. The ocean was… too big. It had been a week. They could be half-way across the world now, even if Alec guessed that they would be staying close. Valentine seemed to have an affinity for the city. 
> 
> And I recommend scrolling down to the next scene since it takes most of the rest of the scene.

Clary Fray sat cross-legged on her bed in the Institute. She was getting used to the decor, she was getting used to the sheets. They were golden, with a black square in the middle of it. The pillowcases were golden as well, with a black band on the sides. Even the headboard had golden velvet on it. 

The people that were responsible for the Institute’s decoration were into gold eccentric things. It was a little too much for Clary, but she was getting used to it more and more. She’d been a Shadowhunter for forty days. Forty days since her birthday. 

Isabelle was sitting behind her, taking scissors to her hair. Today was the official Lightwood day of haircuts, it seemed. Every first day of every four months, Alec, Izzy and Jace would cut each other’s hair so it stayed appropriate for battle, and so it would be their preferred length. Clary had watched Izzy give Alec’s hair a trim earlier, then had watched Alec give Izzy a haircut. 

And now, it was her turn. She’d gone to the same hairdresser for most of her life. It was the first time that someone who wasn’t a professional did it. She trusted Izzy though. She also trusted that she needed to cut it. It was too long for Shadowhunting. 

It had been a week since Jace had left with Valentine, since she’d woken up her mother. Jocelyn was back, and Jace was gone. She thought about him regularly. She thought about him being alone with that monster they both called father. 

She’d tried to talk with her mother, but she seemed to avoid the questions about her past relationship to him, even if Clary had heard Luke and her talking about it. Neither of them had actually seen him for years. They called him ‘Val’. 

Clary sighed softly, feeling Izzy’s fingers over her hair. Wet like this, her hair was some dark shade of orange. She looked down for a second, seeing the rune on the inside of her wrist. Soundless. She never thought she would be covered in tattoos. She’d guessed she’d have some, but not like this. 

“Almost done,” Izzy muttered behind her, finishing to cut some of the last strands. “You’re going to look great.” 

“I trust you, Izzy.” 

Izzy chuckled. “Thank you. Maybe you shouldn’t. I don’t have a lot of experience with long hair. The last time I did long hair was for Aline.” 

“That’s your friend that lives in Idris, right?” 

Izzy hummed. “Her mom, Jia Penhallow, is a high-ranking member of the Clave. She’s on the Council. She’ll probably be Consul one day, I heard she’s close to Consul Dieudonné” 

“Consul… elected by the Council, working with the Inquisitor, etc?” 

“Exactly. You remember what I tell you very well,” Izzy complimented, and patted her head slightly. “All done!”

Clary chuckled. “Thank you so much. Would you mind helping me with the drying? I’m really enjoying this right now.” 

Izzy accepted. 

Izzy’s presence had been getting more and more comfortable to her, more and more familiar. She searched after her smiles, she looked at her when Izzy wasn’t looking. She knew Izzy wasn’t necessarily super comfortable with Clary’s sexuality. She knew Izzy wasn’t comfortable with her own sexuality. 

“It’s strange not to have Jace here. Usually, he’s the one who does Alec’s hair.” Izzy muttered after a moment, reaching for the hair dryer and the brush. 

“And you do his?” 

“Yeah. We’ve been doing that since he came along.” 

They fell silent while the blow dryer resounded in the room. It was loud and they couldn’t hear each other over it. Neither of them knew what to say about Jace. 

They’d both lost a brother. Izzy was feeling the emptiness more than Clary was, she was certain, but it didn’t change the fact that Jace was in Valentine’s hands. And Valentine had a way of twisting people to believe what he wanted them to believe. 

Izzy swallowed at the thought of the kind of torture Jace could be under while she was styling Clary’s hair. They’d searched everywhere they could already. His deflect rune was on, he was on Valentine’s ship, and they had no way to know where that ship was. Jace didn’t have a parabatai who could force their connection to find him. 

The Clave had also ordered everyone to stand down and wait for instructions. Aline kept Izzy aware of what she could gather from her mother’s meetings. Jocelyn Fairchild’s awakening, coupled with the loss of the Cup, the revealed crimes of Camille Belcourt - that Clary had helped escape -, Valentine’s kidnapping of Jace… It didn’t paint a pretty picture of the Fairchilds and the New York Institute. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Izzy muttered again, putting down the hair dryer after she was done drying Clary’s hair. It now fell gently around her face. It was a different haircut, not the long twisted strands from before. It seemed fuller, now that it was shorter and more gathered around her face. “No matter how long he’s with Valentine, Jace is the strongest person I know. He’s not going to be hurt.” 

Clary could feel that she was trying to convince herself more than she was actually trying to convince Clary. 

“We’ll get him back. I’m sure everyone’s working really hard on it.” 

“My dad went back to Idris. It’s like he doesn’t even care about Jace. It’s like he doesn’t care about any of us. Mom’s still here, but honestly? She can barely look at either of us in the eyes. A seelie-fucker daughter and a homosexual son? She’s never going to let us see Max again.” 

Clary hummed. “I’m sorry she’s taking this so hard. Alec being gay… she should know it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s Maryse Lightwood for you. She’s got her ideas. She’s stubborn in them, especially those that are so ingrained.” Izzy sighed. 

Clary turned around, sitting so she could face the other girl. There was something somber about Izzy’s eyes. It felt like she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying, like she was too caught up under the dark cloud of worries. 

Clary certainly understood. Her life had been a tiny bit easier lately. Her mom was back, Simon was doing better and better… The last week had been filled with training and some classes about the way the Clave functioned. It was interesting. 

Her phone beeped and she looked at it, reading the text her mom had just sent her. Meeting in 15 minutes in the greenhouse. 

“Emergency?” 

“Meeting with mom. 15,” Clary looked up from the phone again, smiling at Izzy. She was making motions with her shoulder, a wince on her face. 

“It’s still hurting?” 

“It’s alright. These types of wounds can take a while to heal,” Izzy replied. “Nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“Are you sure? You keep wincing…”

“It’s fine, okay? Just go see your mother,” Izzy replied, shutting down the conversation by abruptly standing up and gathering her things. 

\-------------------

Alec followed Lydia and another Shadowhunter into the war room. It wasn’t as busy as it should have been. Hell, it had barely been busier than usual after Jace had been taken. Alec couldn’t stand it. Or maybe he couldn’t stand the way people looked at him now.

He had noticed it almost immediately, after he’d come home from Camille Belcourt’s apartment. After the dust of Jace being gone had settled, and they had all tried to go back to normal and search for him, and wait for the Clave’s orders. He’d seen the looks. The way people shifted away from him. 

He’d seen the training room emptying after he walked in. He’d never been in this position before. He’d never been the one people ran from, the one that was plague-ridden. Now everything had changed.

“Any word from the Clave?” he asked, trying to distract himself from everything else. 

“They’ve been keeping us in the dark. The official statement is that it’s being handled.” Lydia replied. 

He was surprised Lydia was still here. After the wedding, and being attacked by Hodge, he’d thought she would have gone back to Idris and never set foot in the New York Institute again in her life.

“Something's up,” Alec muttered. 

They stopped at one of the war stations. There, Magnus was standing, holding one of Jace’s hoodies. His face was neutral at best, wincing and somber at worst. Alec barely looked at him. He had too much to deal with now. 

“I'm worried,” he admitted. The shadowhunter that had been walking with Lydia and him huffed. Alec tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed it. 

“We'll find him, Alexander.” Magnus was trying to be soothing but it wasn’t working. Jace was his brother. And he was in the hands of the psycho that had tortured him as a child. 

Jace hadn’t known that Alec heard his nightmares. Alec had never told him how his distress showed during the night, how he tossed and turned and begged and how Alec had always wanted to take all of that pain away. And now, he was back in the hands of Valentine. 

“When we arrested Hodge, he said Valentine was on a ship. They must still be over water.”

“Pull up the waterways around New York.” Alec ordered, and Izzy opened the map. 

Nothing was showing up. Nothing, but empty waterways, and it was driving Alec insane. The ocean was… too big. It had been a week. They could be half-way across the world now, even if Alec guessed that they would be staying close. Valentine seemed to have an affinity for the city. 

“Anything?” he asked, looking up at Magnus. 

The man shook his head, the blue of his magic dying out over the hoodie. “Sorry.”

“There's got to be something!” Alec snapped. 

“I don't see him.”

It wasn’t good enough. It just wasn’t good enough. Jace was out there, he was probably in pain, either physical or psychological, and this wasn’t good enough. They had to find him. 

Alec turned towards the rest of the ops room, looking at the soldiers. “All right, listen up!” He called, voice booming in the room. “I want 24/7 monitoring of the Hudson and East Rivers. If you see anything unusual, you come to me first.”

And then he heard it. Another scoff from the guy who stood next to Lydia. Alec raised an eyebrow, and looked at him. 

“Something to add, Blackstair?” He asked, staring the guy in the eyes. 

“Ain’t going to let myself be ordered around by one of your kind,” the man spat out. “You think you can just tell people to do things? You’re not our superior. Just let us do our jobs and go suck the warlock’s cock. That’s probably the only thing you’re good at.” 

Izzy watched as Alec’s face dissolved into rage. She looked towards Lydia. 

“I've got this, Alec,” Lydia tried to put herself between the two men. 

“Alec, it’s not worth it,” Izzy whispered, but the glare he shot her made her stop. 

Alec turned back to Blackstair and looked at him. “You have a problem?” 

“Yeah, I do, actually. You think being a Lightwood is going to protect your fairy ass from getting the treatment you deserve? But between you fag and your Seelie-fucker sister, I see no reason why the rest of us should listen to a single thing you degenerates say.” 

Alec felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. And suddenly, his fist was in the man’s face. 

“ALEC!” Izzy shouted next to him, and he felt her hands around his arm, holding him back. “Alec, please.” 

“Blackstair, you’re suspended. Activate your iratze and then give your stele over to the Head of Security.” Lydia said coldly. 

Blackstair stared at her. “What are you doing, defending him? I thought you were better than this, Branwell. But after all, weren’t you prepared to marry him? What were you gonna do, pretend to be a man and let him fuck your ass?”

“Don't forget who you're talking to,” Lydia hissed, glaring at the man. “I am still the Head of this Institute. You just got yourself written up for insubordination. Now go or I will have to put you downstairs to cool off.” 

Alec watched silently as Blackstair glared at them and walked away, towards the office of the Head of Security. His fists were still shaking with rage. 

Alec looked up, and Magnus was standing there, silent. He almost wanted to punch him too. This was all his fault. Now, he was scorned and looked down upon, when he’d been acting Head of the Institute barely over a month ago.

“My brother is still missing,” he said, turning back to Lydia. “You need to find him.” 

Izzy sighed. “Why don't you just take a break?” 

“Not now, Izzy,” he snapped. She was still holding his arm. He pushed her back. 

Lydia watched him. “Isabelle's right. You need to calm down. You just punched a fellow Shadowhunter, Alec. It's not a request. You're dismissed.”

Alec didn’t find in himself the strength to fight against that too. It was just too much. He did need a break, some time alone, to try and figure out what his life was like now. 

“Fine,” he mumbled, and swallowed, starting to walk away from the table. People were watching him. He could feel their eyes on him, the disgust in their eyes, and he wanted to yell at them to stop. He couldn’t. 

He felt another hand on his arm and Magnus said a soft “Hey”. He pushed the warlock back, glaring at him. 

“Don’t touch me,” Alec hissed. He turned to address the rest of them. “Everybody, just back off!”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


The greenhouse was empty as Clary walked up to her mom. Jocelyn didn’t look out of place here. She looked like… she was home. It had been almost scary to see her train for the first time. She wasn’t as good as Izzy or Alec, but she was fierce, strong. Suddenly, Clary had realized her mother was completely different from the person she’d known her entire life.

“Mom,” she called out, and Jocelyn turned around. She embraced her and hugged her tightly.

“My sweet girl...” She whispered, her hand gently caressing Clary’s hair. “You got a haircut.” 

Clary nodded. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Jocelyn took a deep breath and looked at her, holding her hand. They hadn’t really had time, or desire, to talk about everything. About Valentine, or the war, or the fact that Jocelyn had hidden Clary’s identity from her for years, and asked Magnus to take her memories.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Jocelyn started. “All I ever wanted to do was to protect you.”

“I know, but I'm not a kid anymore,” Clary sighed. “I get wanting to protect me when I was… 6, but now I’m 18. I’m old enough. You don't have to protect me, not now.”

“Yes, I do.”

“By telling me lies?” Clary asked. Her mom didn’t seem to understand that Clary had been hurt. That her hiding away her identity wasn’t something Clary could really get over. Or at least not in a week.

“Clary-” 

“It's my life. I.. I had a right to know,” Clary explained, crossing her arms. “You robbed my life from me. Even if you also gave me a lot to fill the void, you… left me blindsided **.** You left me to believe that the adrenaline rushes, and the thrill-seeking was just me being weird, not the fact that I wasn’t meant to live a mundane life.”

“I was scared.”

Her mom sounded very sincere, and Clary didn’t at all doubt that she was, but she was tired of excuses, and couldn’t help the anger she felt. Yes, it was her mom, her mom who she thought she would never see again, but… It was her mom, who’d stolen her identity from her. All because she… married Valentine Morgenstern. 

“Because you married a psychopath. Valentine.” Clary replied coldly. 

Jocelyn swallowed. “So, you know.”

“I know. I know all of it. Valentine, the Circle, Luke, Hodge, all of it. Things you did for my father, because you were blinded…” 

“He wasn't always like this, you know? He was kind, and sweet, and he…” Jocelyn’s voice started fading slightly, as she seemed to be losing herself in memories of the past. 

“You followed him for a long time. You believed the things he said, about Downworlders.” Clary accused, looking at her mother. She didn’t want more excuses. 

“If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, Clary, you would believe them too.” 

“Really? Because I met the werewolf pack, Luke’s pack, and they maybe were rough sometimes, but they protected me, and you, and the Cup. I met warlocks. Three of them. One that was your assistant for years in the antiques shop, one that made the potion you took to get into that coma, and one that you employed to take my memories away. Tell me, Mom, do you only like them when they are useful to you?” Clary hissed. 

Jocelyn took a step back. “It was a different time. You cannot understand. You weren’t raised in this world.” 

“And who’s fucking fault is that?” Clary replied, crossing her arms a bit tighter so she would contain her anger. 

“Mine. I know that. And I promise from now on, no more lies.”

Clary swallowed. Her mom looked at her with wide earnest eyes, and she couldn’t really stay mad for much longer. This was her mom, after all. 

“We need to start with my brother.” 

Clary moved to sit down on the bench, taking the box out of the bag she’d brought with her. She felt her mom take in a breath by her side, and Jocelyn’s hand almost shook when she touched the wood. 

“Where did you get this?” Jocelyn asked, her voice almost blank from the emotions. 

“From under the floorboards. When I was a little kid and I couldn't sleep, I used to watch you take it out and cry over it in your bedroom. I thought it had something to do with the Mortal Cup, so I got it. Turns out it was about my brother.” 

“Jonathan,” she breathed. 

Clary nodded. “His name is Jace. He's alive.”

\--------------------------

Sirens resounded in the streets below as Magnus stepped out onto one of the Institute’s balconies.

Alec stood there, watching the street below, silent, his back locked in a tense position. Magnus didn’t know what to say. It was always hard to soothe that kind of pain, the powerlessness that came with assault. 

It was something he was used to. He was used to the way Shadowhunters said ‘warlock’, he was used to mundanes treating him differently because he came from Indonesia, and because he was bisexual. He was used to being the one they saw as inferior, as wrong. 

He guessed it was all new to Alec. Alec had never been on this side. He’d been a Lightwood, son of the Head of the Institute, a Shadowhunter, presumed straight by everyone around him. He was white, too. He’d never been in Magnus’ shoes. And the suddenness of the change was probably too much to bear. 

“I'm sorry for how I reacted before.” Alec spoke, and Magnus raised an eyebrow. That was surprising. “After what Blackstair said, you… being that way… It was too much.” 

That almost felt like a slap in the face. But Magnus guessed he should have seen it coming. It was foolish, naive, of him to have thought everything would go smoothly after the wedding, after the kiss they’d shared in Camille’s apartment. 

“I get it,” Magnus said softly, stepping up to him. “I'm a lot to get used to.” 

He knew what he was. A warlock. A bisexual warlock who wore makeup and painted his nails and wasn’t the exact shade of masculine that Alec was used to. Alec was used to the strictness of Shadowhunter culture, where few things differed between people. Rune placement could be the most different thing between them. 

“I know what you're going through, Alexander,” Magnus said, as he settled by Alec’s side at the balcony. 

Almost immediately, Alec shifted away, rejecting Magnus’ words and presence. “No, I - I don't think you do.”

Magnus swallowed. This was pretty violent too. Maybe he shouldn’t have come up to see him, try to soothe him by sharing his own experience with biphobia and homophobia. Maybe he should have just gone home and let him deal with all of this his own way. 

“It’s not new to you. You’ve always been the different one. Until a few days ago, I wasn’t different. I was just a Shadowhunter. Now I’m…” 

Magnus sighed. “You’re the same you’ve always been.” 

“No, I’m not. You saw what happened. That would have never happened before. I lost everyone’s respect. I lost my status. And they won’t even listen to me when it comes to Jace. Because of this, I can’t even rescue my brother. They won’t let me save him. They probably think I want to have sex with him. As if I would ever want to have sex with my  _ brother. _ ” 

Magnus sighed, leaning against the stone edge and watching Alec’s frantic, upset motions. He talked with his hands, especially when he was upset. It was as if the motions of his left hand helped pull the words out of his mouth, helped express his feelings. 

Alec seemed to find, like a lot of Shadowhunters, difficulty in expressing feelings, in putting words over what he felt. The mold he came from was obvious in a lot of his behaviors. Magnus hoped he would grow to feel more at home in his own emotions. It would sure be a journey. 

“Tell me what I can do.”

Alec shook his head. “I don’t know. You can’t undo what you did. Just help me try and track him. Maybe his hoodie wasn’t personal enough, I can find some other stuff in his room for you to try.” 

Magnus tried to ignore the  _ what you did _ , the accusation that was just under the surface of Alec’s words, as if the homophobia he was now facing was Magnus’ fault. 

“I don’t think it would help much more.”

“Why don’t you at least try?” Alec snapped. “Why can't you just do this one thing? After everything I've done for you?” 

For him? For him? Alec hadn’t done anything  _ for him _ . What Alec had done was for himself and himself only, Magnus had just been the push he needed to take the step. Magnus hadn’t needed Alec. A part of him even thought that he would have been better off not meeting him at all, staying away from the mess that Clary Fairchild brought with her. 

If Magnus hadn’t cared about these young Shadowhunters, they would probably be dead now. Alec should be thankful to him. And yet, all that he was saying were accusations. 

Magnus needed to go home, right now. 

  
  


\-------------------

Clary had had the night to think about her mother’s reactions to…. Everything. The strange look on her face as she talked about Jace. The disgust in her eyes when she’d seen the fangs in Simon’s mouth. The things she believed and thought. The things she’d told her. 

Seeing Simon as a vampire was strange, she had to admit. She still couldn’t really reconcile the image of Camille, Raphael, and a lot of the other vampires, and who Simon now was. But it was still Simon. 

The guy that Jocelyn had seen grow up from a nerdy kid to a nerdy young man. Jocelyn had been there for him when his father had passed away, and she’d been there when his mother had been through alcoholism and rehab, she’d been there when he’d started playing guitar, when his sister had gone away to college. 

Now she looked at him like he was an animal. Clary felt like her mom was growing more and more into a stranger. It couldn’t be the same woman who had accepted Simon’s invitations to Jewish holidays.

Clary walked into the war room. Everyone was gathered here, following the alert they’d gotten on their phones. She settled next to Izzy, Lydia and Alec. Her mom followed shortly after. 

On the platform, Maryse Lightwood was standing proudly. Behind her stood a black man in a suit, and several Clave guards. Clary swallowed. This couldn’t be good. Official guards only came when someone important was around. And now she understood Maryse wasn’t important enough anymore. 

“Attention!” Maryse spoke, and the whispers of the assembled Shadowhunters died down. She had a small smile. “We are at war. Valentine Morgenstern now has the Mortal Cup, with which he is, no doubt, raising a new army, and one of our own has joined him.”

Clary grinded her teeth, crossing her arms. Jace hadn’t joined Valentine. He’d been forced into surrendering and leaving with him, because he’d refused to let Maryse’s own children die by the hands of the Circle. But she guessed Maryse didn’t care about that part. 

She was probably still cold towards her son, now out as gay, and her daughter, now known as someone who slept with Downworlders. Clary had heard about the incident that had happened in the war room the day before, where a Shadowhunter had attacked Alec. Seemed like Maryse hadn’t said anything about that. 

“Looks like the queen's taking back her kingdom,” Izzy muttered, her voice bitter. 

“As a result, the Clave has declared a state of emergency at the Institute. Their first priority is to replace the current leadership, who they have deemed wholly ineffectual,” Maryse’s voice was full of contempt as she glanced at Lydia. 

Clary briefly wondered if it had been her decision, if she’d had a say in replacing Lydia. Maybe she’d hoped she would be given her place back, if she’d tried to have Lydia taken down. 

“It is an honor to introduce the newly appointed head of the New York Institute, Clave representative, Victor Aldertree.” And on those words, she stepped down and joined the gathered crowd. 

The black man stepped forward. So he was the reason why the guards were here. That was interesting. The Clave thought that maybe the New York Institute was important. 

Alec, Izzy and Lydia had a quick whispered exchange, that Clary couldn’t grasp. They didn’t seem very worried, but they seemed annoyed. Especially Lydia. Clary understood, she guessed. Head of the Institute had been her job, until very recently. 

It seemed that Heads of Institute didn’t have much of a say in their own job security. They could easily be replaced without much of a warning, as had been the case with now both Maryse and Lydia. 

Victor Aldertree cleared his throat, and started talking. He had a smile on his face, as if the perspective of the war, and the search for Jace was for him a source of amusement, and pride. 

“My fellow Shadowhunters. It's an honor to be here with you all. We have to find Jace Wayland. He's a Shadowhunter, and we don't leave our people behind. The answer to his location may very well lie in this room. So, I want to speak with everyone who went on the mission during which Jace disappeared.”

Clary guessed that could all be a good thing. Aldertree seemed to want to talk to people, to understand what was happening, what had happened to Jace. Maybe she could convince him that Jace hadn’t sided with the Circle. Maybe it was their chance to really get him back. 

“One last thing,” he said, turning back as he was stepping away. “Effective immediately, the Institute is on lockdown. But it's only temporary. Let's turn this institute around.”

Izzy’s face contorted. Clary guessed it meant Aldertree wasn’t to be trusted. Clary trusted Izzy’s judgement more than she trusted anyone else’s. 

Around them, the crowd dissipated, everyone going back to work. Clary was about to go back to the training room when something occurred to her. Lockdown. Izzy had had her learn the meaning of words like lockdown, what it meant for the life of the Institute. 

“Wait, if we're on lockdown, who's out there looking for Jace?” she asked Izzy. 

Izzy sighed, looking at her. “We'll think of something.” That wasn’t exactly reassuring. Clary’s thoughts must have been written over her face, because Izzy gently caressed her shoulder, looking at her soothingly. “Don't worry. Jace is tough. Valentine will never break him.”

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Izzy stepped into the Armory. The room was empty, and she sighed, leaning against the wall. The lockdown had been announced several hours ago, and shadowhunters had already put their weapons back in place. 

She could breathe a little more here. She could breathe and know she wasn’t being looked at with the disgust and scorn she now faced. She didn’t understand how it had gone from being the parabatai of the acting Head of the Institute, a Lightwood, to this. She felt dirty. 

She looked at herself in the reflection of a sword, that rested on a stand on the work table of the Weapons’ Master. She didn’t know who had been appointed in Hodge’s stead. Maybe no one yet. After all, they had been very busy since his capture. 

Victor Aldertree would probably remediate that any day now. It would probably be on his schedule right after he was done interviewing  _ every Shadowhunter in the damn Institute.  _

He didn’t really want to find Jace. he would have already sent teams if he did, not ordered a lockdown while he interrogated every single person here. It would take days for him to go through everyone. And during those days, Jace would be in Valentine’s hands. 

Izzy had tried to show Clary a strong facade. She’d tried to convince her Jace would be okay. In all honesty, Izzy thought Jace would be okay, but she didn’t think he would be any better than okay. 

Jace was strong. Valentine could very well be stronger. He was madder, for sure. And he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, even kill, maim, and manipulate his own son. Jace still had scars on his fingers from growing up with the man. Izzy didn’t trust that he would be able to last months in his captivity. 

She let herself slip from leaning against the wall to sitting on the floor. 

The situation was frightening. Terrifying, maybe. She felt out of control, out of ideas, helpless. Alec was not doing good, Jace was gone, they had little to no political power, money didn’t mean much next to the moral superiority many Shadowhunters now felt when they looked at them. Her shoulder was hurting, and training was not easy. She grinded her teeth, activated Iratze after Iratze, and yet the pain got almost blinding sometimes. 

Izzy felt… empty. Powerless. It was definitely terrifying. 

Footsteps echoed nearby and she straightened up, racing to get on her feet. Her shoulder complained at the sudden push. Someone walked into the room. 

“Isabelle?” 

Magnus was standing in the entrance, looking at her. There wasn’t any of the disgust in his eyes and Izzy almost sighed in relief. She had a small smile, looking back at him, crossing her arms. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“I just needed a bit of time.” Izzy shrugged, looking at him and trying to hide everything she was feeling.

“Away from everything?”

“Exactly. It hasn’t been the easiest.” she admitted. 

Magnus’ eyes were kind, and for a moment, Izzy thought he understood her. “You two are going through a lot, Isabelle. It’s alright. You can be down.” 

“I can’t.” He didn’t understand her, actually. She couldn’t show how weak she felt. Others were already circling her, circling them, like sharks that had smelled blood in the water. They knew Alec and her were closer to the breaking point than they’d ever been. “I have to be strong. I have to be the strong one right now.” 

“You’re afraid for Alexander.” 

“Of course I am. You saw what happened. You saw his reaction. I’ve never felt him this angry.” 

Alec had always been a master at controlling his emotions. And when he wasn’t, he always cut off their connection. Feeling his anger like that, for the first time in her life maybe? Izzy couldn’t explain what she’d felt. She hadn’t been afraid, but she’d been startled. Upset, even. 

The anger and the pain, that pushed Alec to break off his usual facade to go and punch another Shadowhunter? That was unheard of, not outside of training. It meant he was even less okay than he let on. 

“I gathered it was the first time he went through something like that.” 

“Things have been said lately, but they were never said to his face. It was a shock for all of us, I can’t imagine the state he must be in right now.” 

Magnus sighed. “He’ll be fine,” he said softly. “I know he will be. He’s got you. And he’s strong. He’ll be okay.” 

Izzy huffed. She knew Magnus was right, but everything had changed so violently lately, that Alec’s vulnerability, Alec’s pain, could very well be what tipped it all over and what destroyed the rest of what they had. 

If they had anything left at all. 

“Do you ever get used to it? The way people look at you, the things they say… all of it?” she asked after a moment, not meeting Magnus’ eyes. 

Magnus shifted, and she heard him sigh again. He was probably trying to find the words that would hurt the less. She wondered if it was difficult. 

“I expect it. I always do. I’ve grown wary of everyone that might say those things. But I never got used to it.”

Izzy swallowed and nodded. “Thank you for being honest, Magnus.” 

  
  


\------------------

Clary was standing outside of the Head of Institute’s office when the door opened and Raj walked out. She saw the disdainful look he was sending her as he walked past. She rolled her eyes. That guy was just purely annoying. 

She took a deep breath and walked towards the door. It was ajar now, and she knocked lightly. Victor Aldertree was standing with his back to the door, looking through the window. She didn’t really trust that guy, no matter what he said. 

“You wanted to see me?” she asked, trying to express as clearly as she could that she didn’t have time, didn’t want to take the time, and wanted this bullshit to be over so she could go back to search for Jace. 

“Yes!” Aldertree said, turning around. He shot her a glance, then looked down at his tablet, then back up at her. “Clarissa Morgenstern.” 

Clary grinded her teeth a little and sent him a tight-lipped, cold, smile. “It’s Clary Fray, actually.” 

The man nodded. “Right, right. You’re one of those with the different chosen names.” 

Clary swallowed. “I’m afraid it was less chosen and more given by my mother. Maybe you should update your file?” 

Aldertree chuckled. He took a few steps. His hands were still in his pocket. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his entire air was one of constructed relaxation. He wanted her to feel comfortable. She wasn’t. He was handsome, she knew it, and he was pleasing to look at, for a shady tyrannical-government envoy. 

“Your father was Valentine Morgenstern, am I correct?” 

Clary nodded, crossing her arms. 

“And Jocelyn Fairchild named you Clarissa, right?” 

Clary nodded again. 

“Then that makes you Clarissa Morgenstern, to the Clave. What you call yourself doesn’t impact on what the Clave calls you. But I’ll indulge and call you Clary if you want, alright?” 

She hated him now. The way he was talking down at her, like he knew everything better, like he was indulging the fantasies of a child… it made her skin crawl. 

“Please close the door and take a seat, Clary,” Aldertree nodded at her, gesturing towards the door. Clary closed the door and sat down on the black leather couch. 

The man walked around her. She could feel the way he was observing her. So many red flags, she thought. She pursed her lips, and uncrossed her arms. She placed her hands in front of her. 

“Sorry about the camera,” the man said, pointing at his phone. He was recording this. Clary didn’t know if it reassured her or not. Probably not. Footage could be tampered with. “Like I told your friends when they came in, this is official business, so I have to be official.”

Aldertree sat down on the edge of the desk, and put something down. Clary swallowed. 

“Now,” he started, and she knew the real interrogation was really starting. “Let's talk about Jace.”

The way he said  _ Jace  _ was with the same tone he used when saying  _ Clary _ . As if he was indulging them with such a childish thing as a nickname. Clary sighed. She would have called him ‘Vic’ had this not been a grave situation.

“Okay,” she replied with a small shrug. “What do you want to know about Jace?”

“I’ve read the reports Mr and Miss Lightwood wrote while you were reuniting with your mother,” Aldertree started, and Clary felt the criticism of emotional connections in his voice as well. Was there anything she could do right? “And then I read the one you wrote. They weren’t different, except for, of course, the professionalism of theirs.”

“Do you have a question?” Clary asked, looking up at him. 

“You had the impression that Jace was saving your lives by leaving with Valentine?” 

“It's more than an impression. It's what actually happened.” Clary corrected. He didn’t believe her. He already had his own version of events in his mind. “If he had tried anything, the resof us would have been killed. Me, Izzy, Alec, and two Downworlders.” 

“Was he within striking distance of Valentine?” Aldertree enquired. She didn’t reply. He shifted, raising an eyebrow. “Could he have taken the man out?” 

“Not without all of us dying before he could reach him. And it wasn’t like Jace to sacrifice five lives for one.” 

“Five lives… Maybe he would have saved many many more if he had taken the shot and sacrificed you. According to his track record, it would seem like Jace would usually be the one to make hard decisions for the greater good. Why do you think he didn’t, this time?” 

Clary shifted, uneasy. She didn’t know what the man was coming to. She didn’t like the things he was saying either. “It was an impossible situation, okay? Jace tried to warn us. He told us Valentine was on the way. I should have listened to him.”

Aldertree raised an eyebrow and Clary swallowed. Fuck. 

“So Jace knew ahead of time that Valentine was setting a trap. How do you suppose he knew that?” 

That was not what she had meant. At all. “I don't know. He was with Hodge Starkweather, maybe Hodge told him? He told us to get out of there. Next thing I knew, I had a seraph blade to my throat.”

“Oh. Got it.” Clary had the feeling that he had not listened to her last words at all. 

“Look, Jace saved our lives,” she added, trying to convince the bureaucrat in front of her that Jace wasn’t the villain in the story. “We have to find him.”

Aldertree moved forward, looking right at her. She could feel something sinister in the calmness of his voice when he replied, nodding: “That's exactly what I'm going to do.”

Something was wrong. She didn’t believe in his good intentions, she didn’t believe he wanted to bring Jace home. 

  
  


\--------------

Magnus could feel the start of a headache forming behind his temples. He was exhausted, he’d just spent thirty-five minutes being scrutinized by an over-eager Clave envoy, and honestly? He didn’t want to be in the Institute much longer. 

He’d wanted to help. He’d come in that morning, even after the way Alec had treated him the night before. He’d come in with the best of intentions, ready to work, to get something going on the search for Jace Morgenstern. It had been a long day. Magnus was tired, but not in the way he’d expected to be. 

He’d expected his tiredness to be physical exhaustion. He’d expected to have to exhaust his magic on tracking Jace using his underwear. Instead, he’d gotten ordered around, talked down to,  _ used _ . 

And right now? He had enough. 

He had enough of being talked down to, of being ignored. Some of the nephilim weren’t so bad, but his earlier conversation with Isabelle had left a sour taste in his mouth. They were not listening to him. And Magnus was tired of being treated that way. 

He guessed it was fair, in some way. They were all searching for their brother, their friend, their colleague, they were all on the brink of war, and they couldn’t be bothered with listening to an old warlock. What did he know anyway, about what it was like to be scorned, to be under fire from the Clave for things he hadn’t chosen to be? Nothing, right? 

Magnus walked through the war room, bringing his fingers to press against his aching temple. He didn’t look around, didn’t look up. He did not want anyone to notice him and call him and ask for more of him. He was almost at the door when he heard a voice calling after him. Alexander’s voice. 

“Hey! Hey!”

For a second, Magnus thought about opening a portal and ignoring him. It would be fair behavior. But he couldn’t. Not when he knew the demons assailing the other man, not when he’d seen the things that Alec suffered from. Not when Alec was blaming it all on him. Oh,  _ that  _ made Magnus’ blood boil.

Alec… was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be aware that Magnus had more to offer than magic tricks. The way the man had almost ignored him for the entire day, only talking to him to tell him to do things for him was a bitter disappointment.

“Are you going home?” Alec asked, something restless, almost accusing in his voice. 

Accusing him of not doing more, Magnus guessed. Accusing him of not following him around for days executing orders. Magnus wasn’t a pet warlock for the Institute to use. 

The man stopped behind Magnus in the corridor, and Magnus took a small breath, turned around to face the disgruntled and messy-haired man he’d stolen from his own wedding less than two weeks before. 

“Where else would I be going?” Magnus asked. “My interview's over, and I'm exhausted. Besides, at my house, there's steak and vodka. I'd rather be there.” He couldn’t keep his tone from falling into a short snappiness, his irritation coming through with a rather obvious lack of discretion. 

He turned on his heels again, and took another step towards the door. God, he wanted to be home. On his couch, with a glass of vodka-based martini, with one olive. With music playing in the background, a steak grilling in the kitchen, the smell of caramelized fat and tender meat cooking in the air. 

Maybe he could read a book, watch a movie, maybe work on a spell, or brew a potion. He wanted to put on comfortable lounging pants and forget the world outside. 

“Wait, you're just… You're not gonna help?” 

The disbelief, the accusation, the  _ everything  _ in Alec’s voice made Magnus angry, and pained him a little too. Maybe he’d expected too much from him, so soon after Alec had started coming out from under the heaviness of prejudice, but… For some reason, Magnus had thought it would all be better. 

He thought Alec would care for him back. That he would listen, that he would understand that Magnus was there because he wanted to help. 

Magnus had already done everything he could. Exhausted his magic, tried to comfort him after Blackstair’s attack, endured the bureaucratic interrogation given by the new Head of Institute. He’d given his advice, agreed to help Camille get away, risked his own life, his own family, everything. He’d helped, and helped, and given, and given. 

It didn’t seem to be enough.

“You really don't get it, do you?” Magnus asked. It was only a rhetorical question, and he could feel his irritation and annoyance rising again. He was tired, too tired to control everything right now. “This is not my fault. This is not my situation to deal with. I’m helping because I care about you, not because of anything else.”

Alec stayed silent for a second, enough for Magnus to suck in a breath and keep going. He couldn’t stop it, and he really didn’t want to stop. He was so  _ tired  _ of Alec acting like…. Like a  _ Shadowhunter.  _

“You didn’t risk it for me. You didn’t do  _ it _ for me. You didn’t walk away from Lydia Branwell for me, you did it for you,” Magnus pointed out, voice growing a bit louder, a bit angrier, with each word. 

“What?” Alec sputtered. “Are you seriously doing this right now? Right now?” 

Magnus couldn’t stop himself now. He didn’t care if Alec was too busy with Jace to be preoccupied by Magnus’ feelings. Magnus was so tired of being treated like this. “I did not make you come out. And I am not to blame for your people’s bigotry.”

“Then why won’t you help? If you care so much, why won’t you keep trying?” 

“I am not going to exhaust my entire magic on something we both know won’t work, just because you think I need to atone for making you kiss me.” Magnus snapped back. “You, your sister, everyone, God, you’re so happy to have the little warlock around to help, but when I try to actually do something, you treat me like…”

Magnus didn’t have time to finish because Alec snapped at him. “Well, then, what do you want from me?” 

_ Respect.  _ Magnus swallowed the word and shook his head, looking over the man. “At the moment? Nothing.” He hissed. “Good luck.” 

He did not let Alec reply anything. He just walked away. The second he was out of the door, he opened a portal, and got transported back home. Finally. His reflection stared back at him in the hallway mirror. Circles showing under his eyes, makeup slightly smudged, shoulders tense, and the goatee that Magnus had let grow back again. 

He didn’t do blind obedience. The list of crimes committed against the laws in his Clave file showed that he had never done blind obedience. Magnus had thought Alec understood that. Magnus had thought Alec understood him. Maybe he’d been wrong.

\--------------

  
  


The lockdown was still in effect three days later, and Alec was having a hard time finding somewhere to escape the glares and murmurs of the people he’d grown up around, the people that had once looked at him as their equal. 

He’d set up a punching bag on one of the balconies, where few ever really went, where only Jace and Izzy knew there were chances he would be there. The training rooms were too busy, and too full for him to find solace in training there right now. 

He needed time alone, to deal with everything, and to deal with Magnus. He didn’t understand Magnus. He didn’t understand how the man could look at him and act like he didn’t have any involvement in this at all. The kiss they’d shared at the wedding and the one they’d shared in Camille’s apartment had been a two-people job. The responsibility wasn’t only on Alec. 

Magnus had to take responsibility for what he’d done because Alec just… Alec just couldn’t do this alone right now. His head was barely above water, stuck in this position where he was painfully aware of the scrutiny he was under, and how everything that had happened was actively working against his brother’s safety. 

Alec needed Magnus to be there with him, to be there understanding of what he was going through, because if Magnus wasn’t there, then Alec was going to drown. He didn’t want to drown. 

Alec sucked in a harsh breath, fingers stopping to pound against the leather of the punching bag. He took another breath and walked away from it. 

He’d told Magnus he couldn’t understand. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe that was what Magnus had meant when they’d fought.  _ You, your sister, everyone, God, you’re so happy to have the little warlock around to help, but when I try to actually do something, you treat me like…  _

Maybe Magnus did understand, but Alec was too busy trying not to drown that he wasn’t listening to a word the man was saying. 

Alec’s train of thought was interrupted by the alarm blaring through the Institute. The lights glowed red as he grabbed his shirt, put it back on and ran down to the war room. He was joined by Clary on the way. 

“Who sounded the alarm?” He asked, as he was walking into the war room. No one answered. 

His breath caught when he saw the message now written on all screens, with the hologram that had come up on most of the war tables, and on the main table in the very center of the room, where the main team, his team, usually got ready. 

“What's going on?” Izzy whispered as she came running behind him. 

Alec could barely reply. Jace’s upper body was slowing turning in the air, the words “WANTED - DEAD OR ALIVE” written over his chest in glaring red letters. Alec didn’t understand what was going on, or what it meant. 

“Jace…” Clary breathed out. “I don’t understand… Aldertree said he wanted to rescue Jace.” She pointed out.

“Actually, Miss Morgenstern,” Aldertree said, coming up from behind the girl, suit perfect, seeming so calm Alec wanted to punch him just to see if the man could feel something. “I said I wanted to find him. Why would I want to rescue someone who left on his own accord?”

“What did you tell him?” Alec snapped, turning to Clary. It had to be her fault. There was no explanation other than that. She must have said something. 

“Alec, it-” Izzy started, trying to explain, as always. Alec was starting to have enough of how easily Izzy went to Clary’s defense. How she always seemed to jump to an opportunity to side with her. She was supposed to be  _ his  _ parabatai. 

“Is this everyone?” Aldertree called out, taking his position on one of the steps of the ramps, looking over the assembled crowd. People fell silent as he looked over them. “Fantastic. First up, all Downworlders are forbidden from entering the Institute without my prior approval. For those still present, good day.” 

Victor Aldertree turned to Luke, who stood by Jocelyn’s side, arms crossed. “Mr. Graymark.” 

Luke set his jaw, the muscles contracting around his jaw. He wasn’t often called Graymark anymore. Only someone like Aldertree, a Clave envoy through and through, would call him that. 

“I'm not leaving Jocelyn,” Luke said. “Besides, my badge gives access to resources that you don't have. I can help you find Jace.”

Aldertree had a small, fake, smile, the kind that was so full of pity that you could almost smell it. “That's generous of you, but I'm going to have to insist.”

Luke sighed. It wasn’t like he had the upper hand here. He nodded, turning to Jocelyn and looking down at her. She sent him a reassuring nod. He swallowed. “Call me when you can.”

“Yeah.” Jocelyn whispered. 

Aldertree kept his perfectly cold smile on as he turned to Simon. The vampire knew what was coming. “You, too….. Simon, right?” 

Simon swallowed. “It's almost dawn. I don't have anywhere to go.”

Aldertree didn’t seem to care. His next words held the same amount of pity and contempt as before. This one didn’t like Downworlders. “Hey, you're a smart guy. I'm sure you'll figure something out.”

“Simon, come on.” Luke said softly, gently nudging for Simon to come. Simon turned towards Clary, but she shook her head. 

“I'll be okay.” She assured him. 

Clary watched as her father and best friend walked out of the room. No one moved to go against Aldertree’s decree. The room was plunged into a heavy silence. They all heard the door of the Institute slamming shut, and only then did Aldertree nod, clap his hands, and turn to face everyone again. 

“Now, Let's get to it.” He started, looking around the room. “I've reviewed your statements, along with the reports of your unsanctioned missions. And I can come to no other conclusion that Jace Morgenstern is a traitor to the Clave.”

It seemed like every word was specifically designed to hurt Alec, Izzy and Clary. Izzy’s face contorted, confusion written all over her features. She turned back to call Aldertree out but didn’t have time to. Alec was already speaking. 

“Jace is not a traitor.” Alec said, tone firm. He kept his arms crossed and his eyes glaring at the shorter man. He knew deep down that right now, in the current state of the Institute and his reputation, he had nothing to say. 

“Point of fact,” Aldertree replied. “Clary said Jace called to warn you about Valentine's trap, which got me thinking Jace had multiple chances to kill Valentine, but chose to let him leave. Now, Valentine, Jace, and the Cup are missing. Do the math.”

Clary bit her lip. So it was because of what she’d said. No matter if she’d tried to make him understand it didn’t mean treason. Guilt started washing over her. 

“There is no way we're going to help you hunt Jace,” she hissed, moving closer to the man. “He’s family.” 

Aldertree had a small chuckle, again full of pity. “And I'd never ask you to. You and your “friends” are prohibited from any further involvement for the hunt for Jace Morgenstern.”

“What?” Izzy exclaimed. 

The man ignored her. “The rest of you, back to work. I'm lifting the lockdown on the Institute, except for Clary and Jocelyn. Given your relationship to Valentine and Jace, I want to keep a close eye on you.”

Izzy sighed. They couldn’t do anything. She turned back to Alec but he was looking away from her, jaw set, and though she couldn’t feel his feelings, she knew he was seething. 

“This is ridiculous!” Clary shouted after Aldertree, but the man still ignored her. He didn’t even look at her. 

“Clary,” Jocelyn tried to temperate.

“No!” Clary exclaimed, turning around. “We can’t just sit around, Okay? They're going to kill Jace. He's your son.” She tried to get her mother to feel something for Jace, but Jocelyn seemed to… not care. 

“I know you think you understand this world, but you don't.” The older woman sighed. Her daughter seethed. 

“Dismissed!” Aldertree called, irritation in his voice at their lack of response. They should already have been in their rooms right now. 

He tried to leave but this time it was Alec who stepped towards him. “You can't do this.”

Aldertree rolled his eyes and turned to look at the young Shadowhunter. Alec Lightwood, so full of ideals still, even if he was so un-Shadowhunter-like. “See, that's the thing about being the boss. I can and I did.” 

Izzy tried to take a more… conceding approach. “Then revoke the dead-or-alive order. Jace is one of us.”

“Challenging the authority of the head of the Institute is grounds for severe punishment, including de-runing.” Aldertree replied. “And didn’t you, Isabelle Lightwood, recently get pardoned and spared from that fate? Maybe you should do well to  _ avoid  _ being a misbehaving element in the future. You’re only hanging on by a thread. And I doubt your…  _ friend  _ Miss Morgenstern can really offer another Mortal Instrument to save your life. Now, as I have already said, you are both  _ dismissed _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	2. This Guilty Blood Part II

Luke had driven Simon and himself back to the Jade Wolf, but his mind was still on the Institute, on Jocelyn and Clary and Victor Aldertree. He was worried. Things were brewing in the Clave, and it didn’t presage anything good. The last time there had been this kind of unrest, the Circle was on the rise, and Luke was at the heart of it. 

He doubted Victor Aldertree was a Valentine-type. He was maybe a dick, but not a genocidal maniac. At least not to Luke’s knowledge. The Clave was maybe rotten to the core, according to some, but he really doubted there were many made of the same cloth as Valentine. Valentine had always been special.

Simon and he sat at one of the tables of the Jade Wolf now. There were many wolves around, wolves who’d made faces when Simon had walked through the doors. Luke knew bringing Simon here was not the most universally liked option, but it was the only place where Simon would be safe. 

Luke’s apartment was small, and there was barely any place for Simon. The couch was already Luke’s bed. He hadn’t really been able to get an amazing place after Jocelyn’s loft had burnt down.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Simon said, unaware of the way some of the wolves looked back at him as he said that. “You're a lifesaver.”

“You can stay as long as you like.” Luke replied, voice consciously strong, so they would know that this was a decision that was not supposed to be ignored. “I'll be at the station when you wake up tonight.”

Luke didn’t want to worry Simon with everything. He didn’t tell him that the NYPD was starting to feel antsy with him again, since he hadn’t exactly been very present lately. Simon didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know anything at all. 

“So, um, this Aldertree guy, he's got issues, right?”

That was an understatement, Luke thought, but he shook his head. “Aldertree's not the problem, the Clave is. They're scared, so they're clamping down.” 

The Clave was scared, and they had been since Valentine’s return, since Clary had walked into the Institute with the knowledge that she was Valentine’s daughter. The first symptom had been Lydia Branwell. And then, Isabelle Lightwood’s trial. And finally, Victor Aldertree. It would probably keep going up until the Clave itself threatened the Accords. 

“So, do you think it's true, what they're saying about Jace? That he's working with Valentine?” Simon’s voice was small. 

Luke shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“I don’t believe it either. I was there when he left with Valentine and he… It was because of us. Clary, Izzy, Alec, Magnus and I.”

Luke nodded. “Jace is a kid. A traumatized kid maybe, I can’t even imagine what Valentine did to him as he grew up, but still a kid.”

Luke shouldn’t be surprised. Of course they would go after the traumatized child, blame him for Valentine’s crimes, and let everyone hunt for him. Once Jace was found, they would wash their hands of it and conveniently forget that Valentine was out there. 

He was about to talk again when his phone rang. “I gotta take this.”

“Garroway.” he said, standing up and walking towards the back room, not to disrupt the other customers. 

The second he was out of the room, young wolves were standing up. They were led by Gretel Monroe, the warrior wolf that had threatened Simon and Clary a couple weeks prior. The young woman walked up to Simon’s table, standing there and watching him. 

Simon grew restless under their gaze. He was surrounded on all sides by the wolves. “What's up, guys?”

Gretel crossed her eyes. “We know Luke said you could crash here. But not here.” 

Simon suddenly stood up, arms outstretched. Gretel raised an eyebrow, and sent a glance at the other wolves. They were standing by, and though they did seem like they were about to pounce, she knew that they wouldn’t. She was the highest-ranking here, and she hadn’t told them to. 

Gretel was young, but powerful. She was one of the few wolves that were actually born with lycanthropy. It gave her a serious advantage in power and hierarchy. And so, the other wolves would listen to her. 

She wished that her girlfriend had been there. Maia and her had been laughing about kicking a vampire’s ass lately. Maia didn’t harbor the same uneasiness and animality against vampires that Gretel did, but she understood how annoying those parasites were. 

“You don't want to touch me,” the vampire said, moving his hands in front of their faces. Gretel raised an eyebrow. “Encanto.”

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“Encanto,” the vampire replied. “Encanto,” he repeated yet again. “It's supposed to make you do whatever I tell you to.”

That was a bit pathetic. Poor little vamp. “You're the worst vampire ever.” She chuckled. 

They grabbed him. He barely fought back, only started to struggle when they walked outside and he saw the skyline was starting to lighten with the glow of the coming sun. Soon enough, the sun would rise, and he would be ashes. The idea of that wasn’t bad. But that would go against the Alpha’s wishes. Gretel was not that powerful. 

They walked him across the yard and threw him into the boathouse. They watched as he scrambled to his feet, and Gretel smirked. 

“Welcome to your new home,” she said, before she closed the door. 

  
  


\-------------------

Clary hadn’t seen Simon in two days. Nor had she seen Jace. Jocelyn had been inexplicably willing to talk to Victor Aldertree. Alec had been colder than before. Nothing was going well. And now Izzy wanted to train. 

It was early in the morning, barely 7. She’d told Clary to put on some comfortable training clothes while they were getting breakfast in the cafeteria. She’d picked her up from her bedroom and taken her to the Cloisters. What had been Alec’s wedding venue a couple of weeks ago was now a training room. Panels had been opened, walls had disappeared, and they’d put weapons on display there. 

Izzy wore a skintight catsuit, black, that left her arms free, the neckline ending up in a halter. She’d slid on some fingerless gloves. The necklace that Magnus had re-gifted back to her was around her neck, and she’d done her hair up in two french braids, tight against her scalp. She looked beautiful. She always did. 

Clary felt like she hadn’t dressed properly for the occasion. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and her hair was free. She’d initially thought that maybe if she didn’t get dressed properly then Izzy would realize that she did not want to train. Childish, maybe. Clary had just hoped it would work.

From behind, Clary could see the scar Valentine’s stab wound had left. It was unusual. Izzy didn’t have scars. She was a Shadowhunter. Most wounds disappeared without leaving scars. 

“Come on, let's do this,” Izzy said, her voice too cheerful. 

Clary still tried. “Do what? You seriously want to train right now? We have to find Jace before Aldertree gets him killed.”

Izzy seemed to completely ignore what she was saying, grabbing a staff on the rack and throwing it towards Clary. Clary managed to catch it in mid-air. She noticed that Izzy wasn’t taking anything. She had her whip in her hand. 

Izzy walked, turning around and looking at Clary. She took position, and the second she had her balance, she snapped her whip. The object stiffened, transforming into a staff as well. Clary gasped. Izzy’s smirk as she looked back at her was maybe the sexiest thing ever. 

There was no getting out now. Izzy stood firmly, her staff ready, and Clary twirled the one she’d been given in her hands, trying to feel as confident with it as Izzy looked with hers. 

“Training's important,” Izzy said, twirling her own weapon around her. Her wrist motions were much steadier than Clary’s. “So, pay attention to what I'm about to show you.”

She now held her staff horizontally, and started advancing towards Clary. She was well aware they were being watched by Victor Aldertree. This was the point. Try to show that they were heeding his words.

Izzy gave Clary some easy to parry moves. Clary fought back. She was loud and messy. She used her entire body for motions that did not need such strength, exhausted herself in small motions. Izzy’s hits were strong and firm, and she did not lose her form. 

Clary found her steadfastness attractive. Izzy’s eyes bore into hers, firm, waiting. She did not need to speak for Clary to realize what she was doing wrong. Something about her calmness was a challenge. Clary wanted to make her lose her composure.

She attacked, as hard as she could, her mouth shouting without her willing to. Izzy stood steady. There was something playful about her eyes. She watched Clary with a hint of a smirk, as if she found her attempts amusing. 

Izzy’s next moves were a bit trickier, and she was obviously starting to put a little more into it. For a second, Clary realized the likeness between Alec and Izzy. Her smirk and her amusement over Clary’s attempts were less mean than Alec’s, but they were incredibly similar. 

Clary threw a kick, trying to get at Izzy. Izzy crouched, and before Clary’s feet were back on the floor, Izzy swapped at her other leg with the staff. Clary fell. Izzy moved her staff out of the way, her demeanor still incredibly calm and firm. Clary swallowed. She was getting her ass kicked by a gorgeous woman. That was exactly what people meant when they said ’step on me’. 

“You need to watch your footwork,” the woman said loudly, looking up to where other Shadowhunters could see them. 

Clary followed her gaze. She saw Aldertree there. She hummed. This made sense. This was a show of good faith from Izzy and Clary, a way for them to be able to talk and seem inconspicuous. 

“Aldertree threatened to de-rune me if I tried to find Jace,” Izzy whispered as she slid down her hand and helped pull Clary up. 

Clary stepped around. “So, how do we get to him?” She asked, in a hushed voice, when she was hidden behind a pillar, in a certain angle in which she knew Aldertree couldn’t see her. 

“Let's go again.” Izzy replied, loudly. 

She stood again, and Clary grabbed her staff, and attacked. Her staff hit Izzy’s loudly, but again, Izzy didn’t seem to be that frazzled. Clary tried again, and Izzy barely had to parry. Clary wasn’t balanced, and she stumbled forward. Izzy twirled her staff, letting it stay close to her. It was so… frustrating.

“Have you studied The Art of War?” Izzy asked. 

“That was not on the reading list at art school,” Clary said, her tone dripping with her frustration. 

“You should learn it,” Izzy pointed out. She took her stand again, this time in a more dynamic position. She seemed more ready to fight this time, expecting Clary to be better. “Sun Tzu gives excellent advice.”

Izzy attacked first, swatting her staff at Clary, waiting for her to parry and fight back. Clary was growing a bit more at ease with a staff. It wasn’t her first time with it, but it wasn’t exactly something she was used to using either. 

She jumped, swirling around to give more strength to her staff. Izzy stayed still but Clary saw the hit have some effect on her. Finally. Izzy crouched, seemingly wanting to get Clary to the floor again by hitting her leg. 

Clary kicked, and it would have hit Izzy in the face had she not moved faster than light. She leaned back in time, and once Clary’s foot was back on the floor, Izzy straightened back up. There was something proud in her eyes now. Clary smiled.

“Like what?” She asked. 

Izzy moved swiftly back on her feet and took a few steps back. She smiled a little at Clary. They started sparring again. 

"Move swift as the Wind and closely-formed as the Wood.” Izzy recited, as Clary hit and hit. "Attack like Fire.” She added, before sending her staff flying. It hit Clary in the stomach and Clary stumbled back, but she attacked again. 

Clary swirled on herself again, and hit Izzy’s staff. As the two weapons clashed, Izzy crouched, her position steady. Clary panted, looking down at the woman. 

"But my favorite?" Izzy had not lost the thread of her words at all. Clary raised a questioning eyebrow. Izzy chuckled. 

The next hits came like lightning, hitting her arms and legs and staff until she found herself flying in the air, and falling on her side. Her staff rolled slightly out of her grip, but not far. 

Izzy watched her with a smile. Clary couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t because of the fall. She moved back up, pointing the snake-shaped head of her staff towards Clary’s chest. The number of things she could do to her right now… Clary was at her mercy. 

For a second, her brain short-circuited. A hot woman, standing over her like that? Her staff pointed at her? God, that was the hottest thing that had ever happened to Clary, something straight out of a tv show. 

“To know your enemy, you must become your enemy.” Izzy said, and purposefully had Clary follow her gaze to where Aldertree was. Then, Izzy looked down at her own Shape-Shifting Rune, on her inner right forearm. God, Izzy was smart. That was even hotter. 

As Izzy relaxed, Clary saw her opening. She grabbed at her staff and slid it between Izzy’s feet. She then moved it, hitting both ankles at the same time. Izzy grunted, and fell. Her face looked greatly pained for a second, but it disappeared quicker than Clary could notice. 

The head of Clary’s staff was now pointed at Izzy’s throat. 

"I'm a quick study,” Clary smirked, and Izzy took a deep breath. 

Clary helped her up again. She didn’t notice the wince on Izzy’s face. They exchanged a look, and Clary left the training area. She had Aldertree to shape-shift into. 

Izzy, left behind, finally let herself wince freely. The pain in her shoulder made her feel dizzy. She had thought that training with Clary would be easier on her wound than training with Alec. It had probably been easier, but she had underestimated the speed at which the young woman was growing. 

She looked up and to the side. Still at the table, Aldertree was watching her. 

  
  


\-------------

  
  


Alec Lightwood had spent hours doing nothing. Hell, he’d spent the last 2 days, as well as the last 15 hours, doing nothing else but training and some old paperwork that wasn’t even part of his job anymore. He’d spent some time in the library too, and in his room. He’d tried to avoid everyone. 

He couldn’t stand this. He wanted out. The more he thought, the more obvious it became that there was only one place else where he could go. Magnus’s apartment. He remembered where it was, of course, he had a great memory, with help from the Mnemosyne rune permanently drawn onto his thigh. 

The question was: was he welcome there? 

The last time he’d talked to Magnus, it had been a nightmare. They had both been angry and Alec had said things he regretted saying. He was a bit lost, right now. His world had been turned upside down, and Jace wasn’t there. Izzy was still in pain, and she was busy fussing over Clary Fray. 

He needed to apologize to the man. And he had nothing else to do to procrastinate doing it. So he guessed he should go. He wasn’t good at apologies. His life had always been about being right. Romantic relationships were more complicated than hierarchical ones. 

A part of him felt giddy as he realized what he had just thought.  _ Romantic relationships _ , he’d used, to refer to the relationship between Magnus and himself. It was too early to call it that, maybe, but it still was something that was… real? And that was happening to Alec. 

It had been Hell, really, since he’d kissed him. But now he thought about all of it, and realized that… it wasn’t exactly over. It wasn’t like what had happened with Magnus had been a one **-** off. It wasn’t as if nothing other than pain would come out of it. What could come out of it was a…  _ romance _ . 

If Alec didn’t apologize… If Alec didn’t try to understand what made Magnus so angry, then there would not be a romance and it would all be his fault. Because they weren’t just two people right now, they were at the start of being a couple. They both had to work to make that third element grow. Magnus had helped as much as he could, taken the abuse from his people and Alec himself, and Alec hadn’t been doing anything. 

Alec swallowed and stood up. He walked through the war room towards the door and opened it. He would walk to Magnus’ apartment. He would ask for forgiveness. That was better to focus on than Jace anyway. He wasn’t allowed to help Jace anymore.

He stepped out of the Institute and started walking. He walked down the stairs, trying not to go too fast. He could enjoy the walk. There wasn’t any emergency for him to run after right now. Maybe Magnus wasn’t even free. 

“Alec,” Maryse’s voice resounded behind him and he tried to ignore her. There was a demand in her voice and he wasn’t ready to have a conversation with her right now. He kept walking. “Alec, slow down.” She ordered. He sighed, and stopped, looking at her. 

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

Alec sighed, closing his eyes for a second. He knew what was coming. “Magnus'.” He didn’t lie. “I couldn't just sit there and not do anything. Since I’m forbidden from helping my brother…” 

“Jace is not your brother,” Maryse said, voice tight. “He's not your blood.”

Blood. Bloodlines had always been important to Shadowhunter culture. For a long time, Alec had believed that his mother, his parents, were different. After all, they’d taken in Jace without blinking. The truth was always revealed in times of great need. And that was exactly the time that was upon the Lightwoods currently. 

“He is, mother. You raised him, the way you raised Izzy and I. And you loved him way more than you ever did us.” 

Maryse flinched, as if he’d hit her. It wasn’t satisfying, but Alec still felt like it was deserved. 

“We look like fools taking in Valentine's son, caring for him like our own,” she whispered, trying to change the conversation. “If you and your sister would only step down and stop being so loud about your desire to have him back, maybe it would stop doing even more damage.” 

“Don’t worry, mother, Jace’s True Name is not what’s bringing the family down. Izzy and I are. You always believed it, now it’s actually true. Taking in Jace was the right thing to do.”

“It was a mistake,” Maryse replied. She seemed to ignore the taunts Alec threw at her. “It put our family in danger.” Alec stared at her, and she sighed, grabbing his shoulders, trying desperately to anchor him to her, to the family, to what she thought their family was. “You need to forget Jace. He made his choice.”

“Do you even hear what you're saying?” Alec couldn’t even yell, or shout. He just looked at her. His mother, saying those things. It was a wonder she even agreed to touch him after what he’d done. 

“Son... Life is full of hard choices.” She tried, but it almost made Alec laugh. It was pathetic really. 

“Don't kid yourself. You're not making a hard choice. You're saving your own ass. And unlike you, I don't push someone away just 'cause they're a hard choice.”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


“I don't know how to do this.” Clary hissed irritatedly. Her hands were clasped around an object of Jace’s. She was so desperate and so eager to try. Simon had never seen her like that, really. He’d seen her panic before, but not this exact kind of panic. 

She’d told him about her escape from the Institute, shape-shifting into Victor Aldertree. That was almost frightening to think of, his best friend under the skin of another person, especially someone like Aldertree. 

Simon couldn’t help her. He was a vampire. He didn’t really understand why Clary had come here, Luke couldn’t do anything about it either. They weren’t Shadowhunters, they weren’t able to track people the way Clary was supposed to be able to. 

Clary hadn’t even mentioned she’d noticed where he lived now. She hadn’t mentioned anything at all except that she was frustrated and that she needed to find Jace. Simon loved her, but she was… so single-minded that he felt forgotten. 

He’d just spent most of three days in the boathouse, trying to make it a little more homey. His mother kept calling but he wasn’t taking her calls, ignoring that whole mess for a moment. 

“I don't even know where to start,” Clary whined. 

“You think there'd be some sort of handbook for the Shadow World, like Shadowhunting for Dummies.” Simon joked. He didn’t know what else to say, really. He understood Clary’s frustration, but again:  _ vampire.  _

The door of the boathouse clanged open. Simon and Clary looked up to the person who stood at the door. Jocelyn. 

“Clary!” the woman sighed happily, relief evident in her voice. It felt somewhat fake though. Simon couldn’t really point to what it was but there was something wrong with the way Jocelyn talked and acted. “Thank God I found you.”

“Let me guess,” Clary exclaimed. She did not seem to be happy to see her mother. That was surprising, since two weeks ago she’d been so desperate to get her back. Clary had probably gotten used to being independent. “Luke called you. And what are you even doing here? You're not supposed to leave either.”

“I went to Aldertree and asked him to let me bring you back.” Jocelyn said and Simon could almost feel the betrayal that was going through Clary. 

“You told him?” Clary exclaimed, disbelief and annoyance clear in her voice. Simon didn’t know where to put himself. Jocelyn was ignoring him anyway. “I'm not going back-” 

“I know. I just said that so he would let me out,” Jocelyn said, softer this time, earnestly reaching towards Clary’s hand. Clary refused to take her hand. “I want to help you. I'm here for you.”

Something still felt bad, but Simon felt strange, seeing Clary and Jocelyn fight. Clary and Jocelyn had always had a strange kind of perfect mother-daughter relationship. Despite Clary’s reckless side, they never seemed to fight much. 

“We need to find Jace, right?” Simon spoke out, trying to reason for Clary to stand down and let her mother help. 

“Let's find him together.” Jocelyn said, and Clary had a small sigh. 

“I tried tracking him with the glove, but-” 

“Let me show you something,” Jocelyn said softly. Clary sighed, rolling her eyes, but listened anyway. “Give me your phone and stele.” Clary obeyed. Simon looked at her, frowning. That was an unusual teaching method. Like learning to write without a pen. 

“Here are some basics of Shadowhunting,” Jocelyn said. She was now standing by the door. She paused for a moment, before she started running.

“Mom!” Clary shouted. Simon tried to get into vamp speed but failed. He wasn’t exactly used to this either. “Mom!” They heard the lock snap closed behind the door. “Mom, open the door!” 

“First rule of Shadowhunting, don't give anyone your phone or stele,” Simon quipped. 

“Thanks.” Clary rolled her eyes. 

  
  


\--------------

  
  


Night had fallen on the Nightingale Towers. Magnus hadn’t seen a single Shadowhunter in almost three days and that was for the best. He had needed a break. He’d forgotten how exhausting those mortals were.

The thing with Shadowhunters was that they always somewhat meant well. No matter what they did, they thought of themselves as agents of the righteous and the Holy. Even in their interpersonal relationships, even in intimacy, they were all about what was right and their duty. 

It made them blind to the truth of people, of feelings. It made their marriages often built on a partnership that was not meant for intimacy, emotional or physical. They created generations upon generations of individuals unfit for any relationship outside of a hierarchical one. Magnus had known some who were different from the Clave mold, and had known their struggles. 

Alec was still only realizing how different he was from what the Clave wanted the mold to be. Magnus guessed he could understand the sudden cognitive dissonance, but… he was  _ tired  _ of making excuses for the other man. If Alec wasn’t willing to work for this… Magnus wasn’t going to do much more. 

Magnus had hidden and drank tea, and had slipped into more comfortable clothing and done some yoga for an hour or so. He was only now starting to add magic in it, working on his own control of his power, and working to further perfect the synchronicity between motion and magic. 

After a century or two of these exercises, his magic was used to his body. They worked in almost perfect synch, motions of Magnus’ fingers barely needed for him to actually call onto his magic consciously, it flowed through him immediately. 

His wards warned him of an approaching presence and he let them let the person in. The ball of magic held between his hands did not flicker. He could feel the magic working through his flesh, and it was wonderful. He was shirtless, bare skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, warlock mark on display. 

The door opened. The wards warned him again. Magnus let them approach. Only fools would try and attack him right now, when his power was so present. He heard footsteps, breathing. 

“Magnus.”

Alexander Lightwood himself. Magnus hummed in his head. Why was he here this time? If it was to ask for more magic, more help, Magnus would not give it to him. Alec barely seemed to care about anything but himself currently. 

“I'm not good at apologies,” Alec continued. Magnus still kept his back facing him. “But I'm... I'm sorry.” 

Cute. Maybe he was. This was far from enough. Magnus needed more, more than words that could very well be empty, performative. “Continue.”

“I'm... Really sorry.”

Emotionally stunted Shadowhunters. This was still not enough. Did Alec even realize what he’d done? Did he even realize what he was apologizing about? 

“For?” Magnus asked, voice tight and demanding, magic still swishing around in between his fingers. He knew what Alec was seeing. He knew that he was probably attracted to him right now. 

Magnus knew the effect he had on people. Especially in the state of undress he was right now. A part of him was very glad that Alec was seeing what he was missing out on. Strong muscles rippling under smooth golden skin, shining with a hint of sweat… This was the first time Alec really saw him in that kind of “outfit” for lack of a better term. The first time Alec saw him in Magnus’ most… _sexual_ form. 

“Look, can you just cut that out for a second?” Alec said. He seemed a bit frustrated. Maybe Magnus’ current activity was making him lose his focus. Poor Alexander. 

Magnus hummed and brought his feet back closer together, standing more upright. A flick of his finger and a motion of his arm over his shoulder sent the ball of magic flying off, grazing Alexander and hitting a lamp.  _ I am powerful, I am not your pet warlock.  _

Magnus exhaled and started walking to where a sleeveless sweater jacket was folded. It never did well to stay undressed once you stopped working out. 

“You were right,” Alec said, walking towards the balcony where Magnus was. “When I called off my wedding, that was for me.” Magnus slid on the jacket, not looking at him. “But this is all just... It's very new.”

Magnus huffed. “This may surprise you, but you're new for me, too.” He snapped.

He hadn’t been this vulnerable in a century, not for anyone. And he’d never been with a Shadowhunter, not like this. He couldn’t believe he was letting himself be used again by someone he cared about. Why did he always end up in this kind of situation? He was too good, really. 

“Look, with Jace missing, it's just like….” He struggled to find words as Magnus zipped up the sweater, and sighed. “The ground has shifted, and I can't keep my balance-” Magnus was tired. Alec still couldn’t understand. This was just an excuse. An excuse for taking out everything on him, an excuse for  _ using  _ him. Magnus walked back inside of the loft. 

Or at least, he tried. As he was passing by the man, Alec grabbed his arm, keeping him there. Magnus stopped. No one usually touched him like that. No one kept him from moving. 

He looked at the hand. The hand that grabbed his elbow, kept him there, kept him from escaping while Alec was not done yet. Magnus stood still, and when Alec felt that he had settled into a position by his side, he let go of his elbow. 

His hand shifted down, gently touching from Magnus’ elbow to his forearm. Magnus hadn’t been touched like that in a while. Even in his grasp, Alec wasn’t violent. Firm, maybe, but Magnus wasn’t in danger. Magnus had never really been touched by a Shadowhunter that way. 

His own body’s reaction to Alec’s respectful touch shook him to his core. He looked up to the man. Alec watched him with that look in his eyes, the one Magnus had been so seduced by. The firm look, the decisive look. Magnus swallowed. Alec knew he had his attention now. 

“I didn't mean to take it out on you,” Alec said, voice softer. He watched him. His apology was genuine. Alec’s hand slipped down to Magnus’. Magnus felt his heart flutter. How could this man make him so… vulnerable? 

“I'm sorry, Magnus,” Alec continued. “I was wrong. It’s not your fault. I was panicking. I failed to listen to you. I failed to make a step towards you, the way you were doing towards me. I’m sorry.” 

Magnus sighed softly. The man was young. A young, lost Shadowhunter. He had so much to learn. Magnus was willing to be by his side while he learnt. 

“You're forgiven.” 

A great exhale came out of Alec’s mouth. His shoulders dropped slightly. He’d been obviously anxious to see whether Magnus would grant him forgiveness or not. Magnus smiled a little at that. 

“Also?” Magnus added. “You're great at apologies.” He teased a little. Maybe this could work after all. 

Magnus’ eyes settled on the collar of Alec’s jacket. It was folded strangely, an obvious sign that Alec had put on his coat in a rush before heading out of the Institute. Magnus smiled, and reached up. His fingers deftly slid underneath the fabric, finding the edge of the garment and putting it back into place. It was a fast, swift motion, but his fingers caressed the skin of Alec’s neck.

Alec smiled, looking down. His cheeks flushed slightly, as he struggled to keep in a chuckle. He walked away, towards the edge of the balcony, looking out at the Brooklyn skyline underneath. 

“Thanks. I've been working on it.” he said softly. He held his hands behind his back, in a clear rest pose of a soldier. Magnus did have a thing for the soldier kind. He was almost surprised Catarina or Ragnor hadn’t mentioned that yet. 

Magnus sighed softly and came to stand by the man’s side.

“Here's the thing,” he started. “We're always going to face challenges.” Alec turned towards him, his left hand coming to rest on the stone banister. He listened to Magnus, eyes fixed on him. “So, when things get crazy, don't push me away.” 

Magnus slid his hand over the stone as well. Alec nodded, understanding clear in his eyes. This was a man who had so much to learn about a relationship he never thought he would have and Magnus… Magnus wanted to teach him. 

Alec leaned in a little closer. His eyes searched Magnus’ face, maybe for some kind of sign of consent. His hand reached over, settling on Magnus’. It was not holding his, just resting on top of his. 

Magnus nodded in turn at him, giving him permission, the sign he was looking for. Alec leaned over, pressing his lips gently to Magnus’. It was much more chaste than the kiss they’d shared in Camille’s apartment. It was affectionate and tender. It was a kiss of ‘I’ll do better’. A kiss of ‘I want to understand you’. Magnus loved it just as much as he loved the desperate kiss and the hungry kiss. 

\-----------------

Clary looked at the icons on the side of the phone screen. No matter how many times Simon launched his entire body against the door of the boathouse, the signal didn’t change. 

“Simon, your phone gets no cell service down here.” She called out, before going to sit down on a pile of unidentified stuff. 

“That's okay. I think I'm making progress.” Simon mumbled, before he launched himself against the door again. He grunted as he hit the metal loudly, using all his vampire speed. 

“Simon, just stop, okay?” Clary sighed. “It's no use. We're stuck down here.” She mumbled. She didn’t want to be stuck. She wanted to go after her mom. Why had she even done that? It wasn’t fair. 

The more she saw her mom around the Institute, around Shadowhunters, the less she liked her. She’d never seen Jocelyn like that. She didn’t like what she was seeing, and would have liked to get her mother back, thank you very much. 

Simon came to sit by her side. She sighed, and he nudged her. His smile was a bit mischievous in a way that was purely Simon. She already knew he was going to joke around to lighten the mood. 

“I'm enjoying our together time,” he teased. She couldn’t resist. His smile was infectious. Soon she was smiling as well. They hadn’t really spent a lot of time together lately. “Reminds me of 10th grade when we snuck into my mom's liquor cabinet.”

“Oh God,” she groaned at the memory. Elaine had been working late that night, working on a huge case back at her office, while Clary was on a sleepover at Simon’s house. They had gotten wasted on whiskey and gin, drinking way too much. She still felt the headache the next morning, and the feeling of somewhat desiring death. The feeling of throat so dry she thought someone had come to take the water out of her body while she slept. “Oh, it was my first wicked hangover.”

Simon laughed next to her, remembering the same horror the morning after. She looked at him. 

“This is worse,” she pointed out. 

He thought for a second, making a face at her. They looked at each other, and he hummed. She shook her head.

“No, it's not.” They giggled. “No, definitely not.” Nothing could ever be worse than that morning. Not Turning into a vampire, not being stuck in a humid boathouse… Nothing.

“It's ridiculous,” Simon sighed. “How crazy our lives have gotten in the last few weeks.”

“Yeah.” Clary mumbled, nodding. 

“You kill demons now.”

“Yeah.”

“I drink blood now.” 

Clary nodded again. God, their lives had gotten insane indeed. She had a brother now. She had met her father now. And somehow neither of these things were even slightly good. Though Izzy was. Izzy was the best part of discovering this. 

“And it used to be that...The biggest problem we had was that we played too much video ga-” Simon was interrupted by a loud crack. 

The door fell down suddenly. They stayed a second or two in silence, processing what was happening. Clary got on her feet. She grabbed the phone and put it in Simon’s hands. 

“Here. Track my mom with your phone.” She asked. “We don't have much time.”

Simon focused on the phone for a second, until Clary turned back towards him and grinned. “Hey. You did it.” She praised. 

“Yay for me!” Simon grinned back, and they both started running out of the boathouse, following the little dot that signalled where Jocelyn was. 

\----------------------

Magnus had put some of his usual clothing back on. Alec had to admit it was a little sad. Magnus had looked absolutely gorgeous in his simple training clothing, like a being made of magic…. Which was what he was, actually.

Alec was standing, leaning against the banister, waiting for Magnus to come back with the glasses of wine he’d promised. He wondered why exactly Magnus wasn’t making them appear into thin air with magic like he had before. Warlocks were such complex creatures. 

No, not creatures. People. 

Magnus stepped back onto the balcony, and gave Alec the glass of red wine. “I thought it would be a little more your style than the cocktails from the other day…” He pointed out. 

Alec hadn’t hated the cocktails at all. They had been strong, too strong for his unused palate, but they hadn’t been bad. “I trust you on this.” He chuckled, and smelled the liquid. It didn’t smell bad at all. 

He brought the glass to his lips. It was strong too, but in a different way. Magnus was right. He preferred that to the cocktails for now. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. And I’m sorry I said you couldn’t understand.” Alec said softly after a moment of silence. 

“You’re not wrong. I’ve never been a Naphil.” 

“But you’ve been through so much… of what I’m going through now.” 

Magnus sighed softly, and took a sip of his wine. “Homophobia. Biphobia. Hatred. That’s what you’re going through right now.”

Alec swallowed. “I don’t think they hate me. They just don’t like that I like men.” 

“In a way, they do hate you.” Magnus explained. “This… liking men, it’s what you were born with. It’s not a hair dye or a bad choice of clothing. It’s who you are, who you’ve always been.” 

Magnus swallowed another gulp of wine, leaning a bit more heavily against the banister. “I was born like this. I was born with skin darker than yours, with the eyes of a demon. I was born liking more than women, more than those whom I was told to like. This is what I’m always going to be. Magnus Bane, Indonesian, bisexual…”

“How are you so… proud? It seems so easy when I look at you. You proclaim your sexual encounters with other men. You flirt so openly. You wear your identity so proudly, it’s… it’s almost annoying because that’s not something I can do. It will never be as easy for me.” 

Magnus had a small, sad, chuckle. “It’s never easy. And it has never been. I spent so many years hating the person I was. I spent so many years thinking that I was wrong.” He swallowed. “And as for the proclaiming of sexual encounters, as you say…” He smiled softly. “It was a disastrous attempt at flirting with you.” 

Alec looked at the sky for a minute, unable to keep the grin from forming on his face. Magnus had been trying to flirt with him so much. He’d been desired by Magnus… He couldn’t really contain his giddiness. 

“So…. I’m…. I like men. That’s… who I am. A shadowhunter who likes men....” Alec whispered. His tongue stumbled on the words. They were foreign to him. He hadn’t really said them out loud many times before. “Is it always going to be like this for me? Always dealing with the… comments?” 

Magnus sighed. “I won’t lie to you. Nephilim culture has never really been a haven for queer people.” 

“Queer?” Alec interrupted. 

“Non straight. Whether it’s… not… identifying with the gender given at birth, or not loving who society says you should love.” Magnus explained. “It’s an easy term that is often used to mean everyone that is not following the norm.”

Alec hummed. “So we’re both queer.” He said, trying the word out on his tongue. He liked that one. He liked it much more than he liked ‘homosexual’. 

Magnus smiled at him. “Very much so, Alexander.” He took another sip. “So, you might always get comments and looks but, you must not let them stop you. No matter how hard it gets… no matter how hard you have to work to be recognized the way someone that follows the norm gets recognized.” 

Alec nodded solemnly. “It’s hard. It’s so hard,” he whispered. “Everything’s changed and I… I feel like I’m drowning.” 

“You feel like everyone’s against you, like nothing’s going to be alright anymore.” 

Alec sighed. “And yet… I don’t regret it. I did regret it, until I realized that coming out wasn’t supposed to be the end of the journey. Or the end of the story.” He whispered. “Because there’s you. And there’s us, whatever it is right now, between us. It’s not over because there’s us.”

Magnus swallowed, watching the man. The beautiful man by his side. Magnus wasn’t ready to tell him exactly how much he had hated himself. How much some days he still hated himself a little. It had been so unbearably hard to be who he was. 

Their journeys were so different. Magnus’ hatred mostly came from within. He had the feeling that it wasn’t the case for Alec. There had been shame maybe, and the knowledge that it would be bad for his family if he lived what he wanted. Magnus had been encouraged to use his desires for bad. He’d been told they were a weapon, and he had hurt people with them.

For so long, he’d seen his sexuality with the same light as his cat eyes or his magic. Something given by the demonic blood within him. He’d thought it another symptom of Asmodeus’ blood in his veins. 

He’d met people who’d told him that that was not true. Mortal lovers, who felt the things he felt, despite being devoid of any demonic parentage. 

“It’s never going to be easy, Alexander. For as long as there is a norm and that we’re not following it, we will be different.” He whispered. “You must always fight for it. You must never give into the voices that tell you that you are wrong because you’re  _ not _ .”

His voice was rising a little. He was getting a bit more passionate. He never wanted to see Alec succumb under the names others called him. He never wanted to see him give into the hatred.

Magnus felt fingers curl around his neck, to the back of his head and bring him to Alec. Alec kissed him deeply. It was different from their earlier kiss. It was full of fire, of hunger. Alec let him go after a second. “It’s the will of the Angel, right?” He whispered, eyes on Magnus’, a soft smile on his lips. “Us. It’s the will of the Angel.” 

Alec leaned in again, but before he could kiss Magnus for the third time that night, his phone rang. Magnus exhaled a little, looking at the man with a smile he couldn’t help but make fond. 

“Jace has been detected on land. I have to go to the Institute.” Alec said, slightly breathless. 

Magnus nodded at him. “Go find your brother, Alexander.” 

Alec nodded. “Thanks, thanks, I will…” He started leaving but stopped in the middle of the living room and turned around. “By the way. I like the new look. The facial hair… and the clothing. Suits you.” 

Magnus fought the urge to  _ blush.  _ He never blushed. And yet Alec’s compliments were making him feel all… warm and fuzzy. “Thank you, Alexander.” 

Alec smiled at him, a bit wider than the smiles Magnus had seen before. “It’s nothing. You really look great.” 

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


Izzy was waiting when Alec arrived at the Institute. She’d been the one to call him the second Jace had appeared on the screens of the war room. Together, they marched towards one of the prep stations. 

There, with their backs turned to them, stood Lydia, Aldertree and Maryse, watching the map where a dot named ‘Jace Morgenstern’ was blinking. It wasn’t surprising that the three of them were teaming up right now. 

Izzy swallowed. By her side, Alec spoke. “Jace is back,” he said, though they all knew that. It was just a good introduction to what they were demanding. 

Izzy had been a little hesitant at the idea of bothering Alec while he was at Magnus’. Though the two of them were far from being officially together, she’d known that they had things to tell each other, and she’d feared interrupting them. 

She’d convinced herself that Alec would kill her if he learned that she had not warned him of their brother’s return to New York soil.

“Call off your men,” Alec ordered. “Izzy and I will bring him back alive.”

Aldertree sighed, turning around to face them. “One step ahead of you. We got a hit on the map. We're mobilizing now.”

Izzy’s blood was boiling. She couldn’t stand the guy. “You're not listening. Go ahead and de-rune me. We won't let you do this.”

The man had a small chuckle. “How are you going to be of any use? With your injury, you’re definitely not clear to go face to face with a Circle member.” He then turned to Alec. “And no one will listen to your orders.” He pointed out. 

Alec ground his teeth. Izzy swallowed. “You’re a bastard, you know that?” 

Aldertree rolled his eyes at them. “Hold them here until we get back,” he ordered the guards. Four of the Shadowhunters that were there moved immediately. 

One of them twisted Izzy’s arm behind her back. She groaned at the sudden pain in her shoulder. Aldertree noticed and had a small smirk. Bastard. Sick, sick bastard. The man walked off, another few Shadowhunters following him. Lydia muttered an apology. 

Izzy could barely move, with her arm twisted in that way. Alec struggled more, trying to get the guards to get their hands off of him. Maryse stayed there, silent, and for a second, Izzy hoped that she would do something. 

She didn’t. Maryse sighed and walked off, leaving her children to be dragged down to one of the cells in the basement of the greenhouse annex. 

  
  


\---------------------

“We’re almost there!” Simon exclaimed. 

Clary was starting to get tired of running, but she needed to get to her mom. She needed to know what was going on. Jocelyn had locked her in the boathouse after taking her things, and the only way she had of tracking Jace. In the depth of her heart, Clary knew something was  _ very _ wrong. 

She had to get to her. And next time, she’d keep her stele and activate her stamina rune before starting to run like a madwoman. Even with Simon’s help sometimes, she couldn’t go fast enough and was getting very winded.

“She stopped moving!” Simon added. 

Jocelyn had stopped somewhere to do something and Clary was going to stop her. Or… she was going to help Jace, either way, she would do something. She couldn’t let Jace be arrested by the Clave, not when Aldertree was threatening him with de-runing.

“There!” Simon said, pointing forward. 

It was still a bit away and Clary didn’t have Simon’s heightened senses. She could see people, but she didn’t know who they were. She pushed herself to run more. Her feet and legs hurt, she was panting and her lungs were burning, but it was the only way. She had to run to them.

She turned from the sidewalk onto the street. They were closer now, and she realized none of the three people standing in the middle of the road, next to an open portal, were her mother. Jace had a weapon in his hand, and he was threatening a woman dressed in white and covered in blood. A vampire, Clary guessed. Next to them, Valentine was watching intently.

Clary pushed herself to run faster.

It seemed like the confrontation between the vampire and Jace was at a standstill when suddenly, she snarled and moved, attacking Jace. 

Clary saw him thrust the weapon forward before she was against him and she screamed as she disintegrated. 

Clary and Simon stopped running. Jace was looking at where the vampire had been, the weapon now clearly a piece of wood. Valentine came behind him and clapped his back. Clary was too far away to hear what he was saying, but she knew he was praising Jace for killing the vampire.

A fifth person walked closer, standing on the other side of the two men from Clary. She saw the crossbow pointed at Jace and Valentine before she realized who was aiming it. She gasped loudly, loud enough for Jace to hear, look at her, and follow her line of sight. 

It was Jocelyn, and Jace seemed to be frozen in place.

Valentine moved before Jace could, pushing him out of the way as the bolt of the crossbow flew towards him. He took it in the shoulder, groaning in pain and stumbling to the ground. Clary could see the bolt going straight through him, the arrowhead shape of the end sticking out of his back.

Jace seemed lost. Clary expected him to raise his hands up and give himself in. His captor was injured on the floor, ready to be cuffed and taken into custody, and he was back on the land, with them. Jace wasn’t moving.

Jocelyn reloaded the crossbow behind them, and Clary couldn’t take that. She started running again.

“No!” She screamed, rushing towards her mother to stop her from killing Jace. 

“Run, Jonathan,” Valentine shouted, pain clear in his voice. “They want you dead.”

Clary wanted to stop and tell him they didn’t, but she needed to stop her mother first. 

“Mom, stop!” Clary screamed again, and she pushed the crossbow out of the way. The bolt disappeared towards the walls of the houses lining the street. 

When she looked back, the portal was closing. Valentine and Jace were both gone. Jace had chosen to stay with Valentine, again. Clary couldn’t deal with that. She tried to think of something else.

She turned back to Jocelyn, standing there with the crossbow she’d aimed at her son, at Clary’s brother. 

“What the fuck?!” Clary exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	3. A Door Into the Dark Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!
> 
> After the first two chapters being posted in a strange pace, we're going back to the once-a-week, every-Sunday-at-5 pace that's definitely my favorite!
> 
> Today's chapter is A Door Into the Dark, Part 1, the first part of the 2x02 episode!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Jace hit the semi-wet floor of the belly of the tanker. The portal closed behind Valentine and him, and he was quick to get back to his feet. Around them, the Downworlders muttered and groaned, trying to get away from Valentine. 

“You set me up to kill that vampire.” Jace shouted. He guessed he shouldn’t have thought any different.

It hadn’t been that difficult for Valentine to pull him back in. His words had been perfectly calibrated to feed into the hollows and holes in his self-esteem, to speak to the part of him that still hated himself after all these years. Jace was aware of how vulnerable to Valentine he still was. He probably would be forever.

It was as if Valentine had left marks on his mind, scratches that allowed him to slip back in with little to no effort. Jace shuddered at the thought. 

“You killed her because it was the right thing to do,” Valentine panted, the bolt from Jocelyn’s crossbow still deep in his shoulder, right above his heart. Jace couldn’t believe that Valentine had taken the bolt that could have killed him. “The world's a safer place without that _thing_ wreaking havoc.”

The venom in Valentine’s words wasn’t unfamiliar. Jace hated how this did not feel unfamiliar. It felt like his childhood, all over again, when he was beaten, then given pasta with meat sauce as if it was a balm for the wounds. The venomous things Valentine said about Downworlders resounded again in his ears like a racist lullaby. 

Valentine pulled the bolt out of his shoulder, grunting. He threw it to the side, and didn’t seem to be much more fazed than that. He didn’t reach for his stele to activate an iratze. Jace swallowed. 

“Would you rather turn her over to the Clave to stand trial?” Valentine asked, something mocking in his voice. 

“That is my job!” Jace shouted. “”The Law is hard, but it is-"

"The Law,” Valentine finished, cutting Jace off. “Yet the Clave does nothing, nothing, to enforce that.”

Jace knew that wasn’t really wrong. The Clave decided who got justice and who didn’t, and Downworlders who were useful enough to the Clave were left alone. Magnus Bane would have been thrown in the City of Bones more than once, had he not been so incredibly useful to the Clave in the wards he made, and the services he gave. 

“Downworlders multiply with a bite or a scratch, while our numbers dwindle year after year,” Valentine said, finally activating his iratze. For some reason, something inside of Jace calmed down as he used the rune. The demon blood that helped Valentine heal without iratze also made him particularly vicious when he was using it. 

“If we don't do something, a den like that one is gonna be on every corner on every street in the world.” 

Jace hated that it all rang too true. It didn’t feel right but it felt true, and he’d learned that more than once, things that felt wrong were actually good. “This is the only way.”

“You’re wrong.” Jace shook his head, walking past Valentine. He did not want to listen to those words and feel like they rang true. He did not want to listen to him. Valentine knew exactly how to play him. 

“Like I was wrong about your mother?” Valentine called out, and Jace froze. 

He’d seen the look on Jocelyn’s face as she shot at him. He’d seen the hatred. It was the first time he saw her awake. He’d thought she would try to help him, try and hug him close. He’d thought she would be warm, just like Clary said she was. Instead, she’d tried to kill him. 

Valentine had been right about his mother. What else was he right about?

“I know you even better than you know yourself,” Valentine sighed. 

“You- you don't know me at all.” Jace refused, denied, tried to push the words away from his mind, tried to stop them from making sense. 

“You saved my life,” Valentine reminded. Jace was close to him now, he wanted to take out his seraph blade and kill him but he couldn’t. “You could've portalled me anywhere, handed me over to the Clave in Idris, but did you? No, because deep down inside, you know that I'm right.”

Jace almost wanted to cry. Valentine was right. Valentine was right and Jace didn’t want him to be. He wished he could tell the older man that it was all lies, and he wished that he could mean it, but he couldn’t. 

Valentine watched him. He knew he’d won Jace over, he always knew when he’d won. Valentine had a small smirk, and walked away. Jace was left trying so hard to keep himself from believing that his father was right. 

  
  


\--------------

  
  


Clary was done. She was just done. Her mother had completely betrayed her now. No matter what her excuses were, Clary was just never going to forgive her. She had decided so on the way back to the Institute, and the second they were through the doors, Clary made a sharp turn, and dashed towards the cloisters, trying to escape Jocelyn. 

“Clary, please let me explain.” Jocelyn begged behind her. Clary ignored her. “Clary.” She tried again. When her daughter still ignored her, Jocelyn grew a little angrier. “Clary, stop!” she shouted, order clear in her voice. 

“What is wrong with you? We almost had him back.” Clary hissed at her. 

“You don't understand,” Jocelyn pleaded and it only made her angrier. 

“You're right, I don't. I don't understand why you would try to kill my brother.” She snapped, turned away and walked towards the back of the room. She just needed to get away from Jocelyn right now. 

“Because your brother, he's not who you think he is,” Jocelyn shouted in the empty room. Clary stopped. That was such bullshit. Her mother just… she just thought so highly of herself. She thought she was the only one who got to decide when and where Clary learned of things. “Honey, there's still so much you don't know.”

“Oh, and whose fault is that?” Clary snapped again, looking at her mother. The anger and contempt in her voice was unparalleled. She’d never felt like that towards her mother. “Everyone says that Valentine is the monster, but you, you just tried to murder your own son!”

“Hey, maybe we should take a deep breath and relax,” Simon’s voice resounded, and though she wasn’t really looking at him, she watched her mother like a hawk, Clary was glad to hear the familiar tone. 

“Simon, give us some space, please.” Jocelyn said softly. 

“Sure thing, Mrs. F.”

“No. No, you're not going anywhere,” Clary warned. She held her hand towards him, begging him to stay with her eyes. She didn’t want to be alone with her mother right now. “You're the only person I can trust right now.” She added, but she wasn’t even looking at Simon. She stared at Jocelyn, watched the devastation her words brought on. And she enjoyed it. 

Jocelyn looked down. She fell silent for a few moments. Then, she walked away, a few steps. She wasn’t standing between Clary and the door anymore. 

“I want you to know I'm a victim here, too,” Jocelyn said, her voice softer now. Maybe she finally understood what Clary was going through. “We all are. When I was pregnant with your brother, Valentine drugged me. He did an experiment on the baby.”

“What?” It sounded like lies. Like a sob story Jocelyn would use to get Clary to side with her. But for some reason, Clary believed her this time. 

“He injected Jonathan with demon blood.”

 _Demon blood._ That made no sense. Demon blood, the blood of the creatures that Valentine wanted more than anything to destroy. Why would he use demon blood on his own flesh and blood? 

“Why would he do that?” 

“He's sick,” Jocelyn muttered, shaking her head. She didn’t seem to know the reasons either. She could only guess that it was because of everything that was going on in Valentine’s head, all the hatred. “He thought demon blood would make our unborn child strong, a weapon to use against other demon-blooded creatures, probably. And it did. But it also made him evil.”

“No, even if that's true, Downworlders have demon blood. They're not all bad.” Clary replied, looking at her mother. “I know what you think of Downworlders but-”

“Clary,” Jocelyn interjected. “You have no idea how much I loved your brother. He was my baby boy. And I didn't want to believe it until I saw what he was capable of.” the tears in her voice were having an effect on Clary, even if she didn’t want to admit it. It didn’t excuse what her mother had done, but… God, Clary had never seen Jocelyn this vulnerable.

Jocelyn took out her stele, and activated her Recall rune. She took Clary’s hand, who didn’t have time to protest. the memory rolled over her mind like a movie. 

_Idris, late 90s._

_Jocelyn was walking through a garden. She looked younger, happier. Against her was cradled a baby. Jonathan. The sun streamed gently through the trees as Jocelyn walked around, stopping in front of a beautiful bush. On it, flowers bloomed in a light purple-pink shade._

_Jocelyn stopped, keeping her son close as she crouched down and reached to cut some flowers with the shears she had in her hand. The baby started fussing, crying a little._

_“It's okay. Mommy's just cutting some pretty flowers.” Jocelyn cooed, rocking the child gently. “Okay. Oh. Oh, it's okay. Yeah.” She shushed._

_She held the flower in front of the child, cooing some other words about how pretty it was, but the memory focused on the eyes of the baby. Suddenly, they became pitch black without any iris to speak of. As he stared at the flower, it started dying, drying up and becoming a dark grey._

_“Jonathan!” Jocelyn shouted, but it did not change anything. The child started staring at the bush, and all the flowers on it became dark as well._

Clary was pulled back into the present, staring at her mother. “So… he made some flowers wilt?” Clary whispered. “And that warrants a death sentence, to you? A baby making flowers wilt is inherently evil?” 

“And it wasn't the last time something like that happened,” Jocelyn whispered. “So I went to one of the world’s most powerful warlocks, Ragnor Fell. He warned me that in the future, your brother would only leave death and destruction in his wake.”

  
  


\----------------------

Isabelle nodded at Simon as she passed him in the corridor outside of the Head of the Institute's office. The man seemed even paler than he usually was as a vampire, and he barely nodded back, something nervous in his eyes. It was a wonder he could control himself and not go at vampire speed right now, Isabelle thought. 

She knocked twice on the wooden door of the office before opening it and walking in. Aldertree had been turning his back at the door, and he turned around to watch her. He was smiling, the same kind of smile he always seemed to have, even when he was hurting people. She shivered. 

“Isabelle Lightwood,” Aldertree said, welcoming her in the room. “Please, come in.” 

“Mister Aldertree,” Isabelle replied, nodding courtly. She walked in, and left the door wide open. She did not feel like closing it. It felt like the kind of situation where things could happen, with a closed door. She didn’t feel safe. “You summoned me.” 

Aldertree nodded at her. He went to close the door behind her and Izzy felt somewhat trapped. She disliked the way the man acted, and the way she felt around him. He walked back past her, sitting on the edge of his desk, and gesturing for her to sit down in the chair in front of her. Izzy nodded and sat down. 

“Yes,” Aldertree started. “I did summon you. I thought you and I needed to have a little bit of a chat, after everything.” 

“I’m listening,” she answered. 

“First, I wanted to apologize for the events of yesterday,” Aldertree said, joining his hands and looking at her. “and those of the last week. It’s a complex situation.”

Complex situation, her ass. He just didn’t want to listen to people who said things he didn’t agree with. He’d arrived with an idea in his head of who Jace was. He’d arrived with the idea that Jace was a young Valentine, a genocidal maniac to be. 

Actually, Aldertree had arrived with preconceived notions about everyone. Clary had been Valentine’s daughter, dangerous and unpredictable, something to be tamed and put in a cage and left there. Izzy had been the traitor, the Seelie-fucker. Alec had been… wrong. Aldertree had barely talked to him. 

“Anyway, I called you here to offer a sign of good faith.” Aldertree added. She realized she hadn’t been listening to him.

“Good faith?” Izzy asked, raising an eyebrow. Nothing about Aldertree said good faith, trust or honesty. He was one of those Clave members who wore smiles like masks. Alec had always been much better at diplomatic talks than Izzy. She hated these kinds of people and was usually a bit too truthful about it. Thankfully, the Clave members she was usually tasked with talking to during parties were too distracted by her body to listen to her words.

“Weren't you wounded in the Valentine... situation?” Aldertree asked. 

Izzy winced, looking at him sharply. “You mentioned it yesterday, so I guess I do not need to confirm that,” she said, her voice cold. “I feel fine. It’s all healed up.”

Aldertree looked at her with a smile that oozed with pity. Izzy wanted to wipe it off his face with a quick punch. 

“Your grimaces when you were training with Miss Morgenstern say another story.” The man said, almost too softly, as he stood up straighter and walked towards her. “Everyone could see you were in pain.” 

Izzy cringed inwardly. She didn’t think people would see it. She couldn’t be weak now. It was too dangerous. “Just a passable ache. Nothing to worry about.” She reassured. It wasn’t, and they both knew it, but she tried to pretend. Her shoulder burned. It burned worse when she exercised. Valentine’s blade had been coated with demon venom, and it hadn’t been healing correctly.

“Your wound,” Aldertree said, moving around the coffee table and stopping right by her side. “May I take a look?”

She didn’t answer. Her entire being was screaming no. He sighed softly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see some other kind of smile playing on his lips. 

“You know, I wasn't born a diplomat. I used to be a field medic. Sometimes I wish I still was.”

She felt his fingers on her shoulder, right against her soundless rune. She shifted away. “Really, I'm okay.” She insisted, and he looked at her. 

“I can't let you go back to field work until you’ve let me examine you.” 

Fuck. He knew she’d been feeling restless since she’d been confined to the Institute. She’d trained several times to get her energy out, the energy she usually used on patrols or hunts. He’d seen it. She couldn’t get out of this one, not when he was threatening to keep her on lockdown and confined to the Institute. 

She nodded. It was a tiny motion, but the man had a satisfied smile, and walked to the back of the chair where she was sitting. He stood behind her, his presence unnerving, and she closed her eyes. 

Aldertree breathed out and his hand gently slid in her hair, pulling it back to the side that wasn’t injured. His skin was cold when he slid a finger under the strap of the sports bra she was wearing. He pulled the strap down, pulled more of the garment down, until he saw the exit wound, where Valentine’s blade had gone through. 

He touched the bumpy flesh, the blackened veins around it, sighing with pity. Izzy kept her eyes firmly closed. 

“That's not very pretty, is it? Does it hurt?” He asked. He knew what her answer was going to be, and he knew it was a lie.

“No. Not at all.” Izzy lied, and he replaced the fabric with the same slowness, then reached to replace her hair as well. His fingers caressed her skin, as he walked a step to the right to stand by the side of the chair. For a second, he just stood there and she refused to look in his direction. He eventually walked away.

Izzy felt like she could breathe again. She’d never been this uncomfortable in her life, this… upset about nothing. The way Aldertree was acting made her feel truly unsafe, and it was something she wasn’t used to. She was always stronger than anyone else.

“It looks like a venom infection. Healing runes aren't helping much?” He asked.

“No.” Izzy admitted. It wasn’t like there was any real use in lying.

“In your condition…. I can’t allow you to work in the field until you are healed,” Aldertree sighed, looking at her. “It truly saddens me, even if you don’t believe me. You are, after all, one of the fiercest in this Institute. And I do not enjoy seeing you ache as you train.” 

Izzy stood, taking a step towards him. She swallowed when she realized what she was doing. _Begging_. “Please, it will heal fine. I need to go back to the field.” 

Aldertree shook his head and turned to grab an ornate wooden box. “The truth is, you can't do this, Isabelle,” he said, very matter-of-factly, and almost as if he was mocking her attempts to deny her state. “Not with a venom infection. But there is something that can make the infection go away. Quite quickly, I might add.”

As he turned back to her, he was holding a small silver tin. She didn’t trust him. But she couldn’t stand the pity in his voice, and the fact that others probably saw her the same way, like she was broken. She remembered Lydia’s body, passed out on the floor of the very office she was standing in, small and frail and broken by someone else’s stronger punch. She couldn’t let anyone see her like that. 

“I'll take it.” Izzy breathed. 

“It's called yin fen,” Aldertree said as he opened the tin carefully.

“Yin fen?” Izzy gasped, and took a step back. “Yin fen doesn’t help healing. And it’s incredibly addictive.” 

Aldertree nodded. “The risks are well-known to both of us, Isabelle. We are both people of science. I trust in your knowledge.” 

“Then why are you offering it?” 

“You deserve to have all of the options available to you. It’s not like you can easily get yin fen from the medical ward,” Aldertree chuckled. “Indeed, it doesn’t exactly act as a healing salve, but it gives you a vampire’s constitution and vampires heal quickly.” 

Izzy didn’t know if that was truly how yin fen worked. She swallowed. Yinfen was complicated. Nephili society didn’t talk about performance enhancers the way they should, at least in Izzy’s opinion. Yinfen wasn’t researched much. They put the poor addicted people in the attic of the Sanatorium, and tried to heal them as much as they could, without asking more questions. Without researching.

Izzy knew that it was dangerous, but she also knew that not all those who took it got addicted. She also knew that it could very well have the effect Aldertree was talking about. And after all, she didn’t know _everything_ about medicine, especially field medicine. Aldertree was a good decade older than she was.

“You’re a strong woman. I do believe that you have the will and the strength to resist yin fen addiction. It is, after all, possible to do so. There are many recorded cases.” 

He was right. And it wasn’t like she had many other options. She could do it, she could resist. She was strong. She was a Lightwood, and Alec’s parabatai. Stronger than the people she’d seen at the Sanatorium in Alicante, in the rooms on the attic floor. 

“It's quite strong. I don't usually recommend it, but this is your choice… Are you willing to take this, to be able to go back to the field, today?” He asked, moving back closer to her, standing again by her side. “May I?” 

Izzy swallowed and closed her eyes for a second. She needed to go back to normal. She couldn’t afford being weak right now. She had to be strong. For everyone involved. 

“Please.” She whispered, and accepted.

His hands took hold of her shoulders and he moved her so that her back was facing him. He reached again to push her hair away, slow and firm. She tilted her head to the side so he could access what he seemed to want to access, her spine. 

He held her hair to the side, out of the way. “This goes on the spine.” He said, softly, and his fingers made contact. 

It crashed into Izzy like a tidal wave. It was better than any orgasm she’d ever had. It was better than winning a fight. It was better than anything she had ever felt. Her entire body came alive, nerve endings flaring. Aldertree’s fingers rubbed the ointment into her skin. She rocked with his fingers. 

Every hint of motion sent more shivers down her spine, sent pleasure in her mind. Her entire body felt alive, and she couldn’t feel a hint of pain anymore. Like the pleasure was burning out every hint of venom. 

Everything was heightened. She both felt and heard the fingers of the man against her skin. She could see every detail of the room around her. She could see everything until her eyes blurred with tears. 

Aldertree withdrew his hand. She couldn’t help but touch her shoulder, almost as if she was trying to keep him there. This was perfect. She needed more. She closed her eyes and savored the afterglow of the wave, feeling herself floating.

He held her gently, keeping her standing when her knees seemed to buckle, and she leaned back against him.

“How's that?”

“Amazing,” she whispered breathily, pleasure saturating her words. 

“I'll give you a tin,” he said with a smile. He held the tin he’d opened earlier between his fingers. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, reaching already for the precious tin. She needed more. She was already missing it, missing the wave. 

“But use sparingly. A little goes a long way.” 

She barely listened to him, her entire mind fixated on getting the tin. She closed her hand around it and held it close to her chest, sighing softly and closing her eyes to chase the very last of the wonderful, wonderful high. Thankfully, Victor Aldertree was there to hold her still as she relaxed against him.

\-------------------

Alec was back to punching the firm leather of the punching bag. It was better than to let his mind wander further. Things were wrong and he could feel it in his bones. Something was up with Izzy. He didn’t know what though. 

His talk with Magnus the day before had helped. Tremendously. It had been the first step towards something else, something bigger that they could build together. Then, there had been the slap in the face of Aldertree and his mother letting guards drag Izzy and him into cells to keep them from going after Jace and saving him. His head was spinning from the sudden change. 

And there was Jace, Jace was gone, he was in Valentine’s claws, and Jocelyn Fairchild had tried to kill him. Kill his brother. Alec was trying so hard not to run to her and strangle her with his bare hands. 

How dare she do something like this? How dare she try to kill him? Even if she didn’t love him, Jace had a family. Jace had them, the Lightwoods, because she’d left him behind, and now she was trying to kill him. 

Alec punched harder, until he could feel each hit radiating through his body. Harder and harder. It was finally working, the physicality finally coming over the anger and the pain and the confusion in his mind. 

His mind stopped going around screaming when he started sweating. So he kept going. Harder, and faster, until the sound of knuckles hitting leather resounded in the emptiness of the cloisters. He’d put the training stuff back there, deciding that he shouldn’t let them see him flinch. 

And it was fine. It was working. He hit and hit until he could feel some type of exhaustion and pain curl up in his bones. He leaned his head against the bag. It smelled like sweat, leather and metal. He swallowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have wrapped his knuckles this time. He hadn’t done _that_ kind of training in a long time. 

“Alec, are you okay?” Clary. Clary’s voice, resounding, her steps coming closer and Alec closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He needed to keep his cool. It wasn’t her fault. Not entirely. 

“Pretty bold of you to show your face here,” he grumbled. He was panting slightly. 

“I can explain.”

“Unless your explanation sheds light on how you could put him in harm’s way like that…” Alec huffed, and turned away from her, punching the bag again. 

“Alec, Jace is my brother, too.” She tried, and he turned back to her, staring at her. _Jace is my brother too_. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t her brother. Not the way he was Alec’s.

“You barely know him,” Alec panted, glaring at her. “I grew up with him. I fought by his side. He's my brother. He's my best friend.” He snapped.

“Alec-” she reached over to touch him, to grab him, with that soft comforting tone, as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. He took a step back. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t want this to happen. He wanted her far away from him. 

“Alec, I want Jace back as much as you do, I… I am not my mother.” Clary pleaded and Alec rolled his eyes. 

There was no _way_ she wanted him back as much as he did. She barely knew him. They’d met five weeks or so ago, while Alec had been fighting by his side for over a decade. There was no way she was comparing their relationships. 

“I don’t care if you’re your mother, who tried to kill Jace, or your father, who wants to kill everyone else. I don’t care who you are, I just want you gone. You convinced both Izzy and Jace to follow you in your stupid crusade. For what? We have lost everything.” Alec snapped. 

Clary watched him, swallowing. “I would never hurt them… You know that.” There were tears forming in her eyes and every part of Alec was screaming at him that she was being utterly _pathetic_ . They were in _public._

“All I know is that you’ve ruined our lives. My family lost their birthright. Izzy was almost de-runed. And now, Valentine has my brother. And it’s all because of you.” 

His words were swollen out of proportion by his anger and his distress, and he didn’t care. Clary looked up at him, pain written over her features and Alec didn’t feel like caring. No matter how he’d somewhat grown to like the girl in the last couple of weeks… Now she’d destroyed everything. He barely regretted hurting her with his words, even if he was hurting her on purpose.

“Alec.” 

He hadn’t even realized that Izzy was in the room until he heard her say his name. His entire being was focused on hurting Clary. On making her go away. 

“I'm sorry.” Clary whispered, voice trembling. 

“Alec, this isn't her fault,” Izzy tried to temperate. Her voice was firm but Alec didn’t listen. He just looked at Clary and sneered one final blow. 

“When are you gonna realize you don't belong here? You never have.” 

With that, he left. He didn’t care. He just left, walked away, despite Izzy’s presence, despite the pain he was causing Clary. A part of him thought she deserved it for hurting him and his family this way. Everything would have been alright had she not been here. 

_But you wouldn’t have met Magnus_ , said a voice in his head. Of course he would have. He would have been given the Institute in inheritance whenever his parents decided they could have a campaign to get on the Council. And Magnus was the High Warlock. They would have had to work together, and meet.

Clary wasn’t responsible for that. She might have been a catalyst, but it would have happened anyway. Alec trusted that. 

\-------------

Lydia Branwell wasn’t used to not being in control. She’d been raised by an old Shadowhunter family, the kind that had their family tree intertwined with the famous and the powerful. She’d been taken under the wing of the Inquisitor herself, who’d seen something in Lydia that she deemed worthy of tutelage. 

Wherever she went, she took control: becoming Head of Institute, ruling over disobedient soldiers and fixing bad organization until everyone fell into place. She’d never failed before. 

The New York Institute should not have been different. It had started the way it usually did, with unhappy Heads of Institute being supplanted, and angry soldiers watching her put back together their chaos. And then she’d been engaged, lost control over the Institute, been attacked, lost the Cup, and lost her job. 

Victor Aldertree had taken her rightful place. And she was relegated to being his subordinate, ordered around like a secretary. She hated it. She needed to go back to Idris. Imogen Herondale had yet to call her back. 

So she obeyed Aldertree’s orders. What else could she do? He was her superior, as he had made clear several times since she’d arrived. It had only been a day but she was already spiralling out of her comfortable spot. 

She walked down the corridor, walking past the Head of the Institute’s office. The door was closed, probably locked. Out of reach. She tried to will herself not to think about it, but she couldn’t help but feel the shame of failure leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. 

\--------------------

Izzy felt bad for Clary. She was alone, she was hurt, her newly found brother was lost, and the people she knew were turning against her. They had no real news from Simon, or Luke. Jocelyn was proving to be much less pleasant than what Clary had told Izzy of her.

Izzy slid the holster’s belt around her waist and buckled it through the loops of her jeans. She then wrapped the second strap around her thigh. It was a mission around mundanes mostly, they only needed basic gear. She was taking her stele, her whip and her seraph blade, the holster glamoured by some nice little runes she activated in the leather. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was dressed down again. She was starting to really love this style. She was… comfortable. And she looked just as hot as when she was wearing push-up bras, leggings and nothing else. 

Izzy reached up to take a purple leather jacket from a hanger in her closet. She groaned when pain shot from her shoulder to her fingers. It was back. It had only been a day, but it was already back. 

The pain felt just as intense as it had felt before Aldertree had given her the yin fen. He’d said it was healing her though, and she trusted him. She’d checked his credentials after their meeting, and he had actually been a field medic for years before starting a political career. It hadn’t been a lie. 

She sighed. Her shoulder was back to aching. And they were going to a fight club… She needed more. _Use sparingly, a little goes a long way._ A day had passed. That was sparingly enough. 

Izzy put the leather jacket down on her bed, and walked over to her vanity. She slowly opened one of the small drawers, and took the small silver tin out of it. She put it down on the table, opened it and moved her hair out of the way. 

Her fingers, covered in the ointment, touched her spine and she felt it again. It was like a cool, delicious fire in her veins. She gasped, the room coming in both more vibrant focus and more blurriness. 

In the ops room, as he was looking at their mission details, Alec felt the rush going through him. He gasped, grabbing the edge of the table. “What the hell?” 

Izzy stood up again. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, just like after an amazing orgasm, but maybe even more intense. The afterglow made her feel almost dizzy, everything overwhelming her with sharpness. She could smell the leather of her jacket from two meters away. 

She swallowed and reached for it, sliding it on. She had work to do. And first, she needed to stop by Clary’s bedroom. 

Clary had tears in her eyes when Izzy stepped through the door of her bedroom. She was sitting on a stool, looking through a notepad filled with charcoal drawings. Izzy caught sight of some runes, and some buildings, and what she thought was some portraits. She didn’t have time to see whom Clary had sketched. 

“Hey,” Izzy said softly, but loudly enough that Clary would know she was here. She didn’t want to startle her. There was something so nostalgic and bitter about the way Clary looked up for barely a second to look at her. Izzy closed the door behind her. “Clary, all those things Alec said about you,” she paused. “You know I don't feel that way.”

“You have every right to.” Clary huffed. 

Izzy wanted to run to her and tell her no, she couldn’t feel that way. She couldn’t look at Clary and not see the amazing, sweet, and driven woman that she’d come to be so close with. 

“None of this is your fault. Alec, he's stressed out. It’s been complicated for him right now, between coming out and Jace being gone. It doesn’t give him the right to tell you those things though.” Izzy said softly.

“Alec's right,” Clary looked up at her, with that sad, but somewhat resolute thing in her eyes. As if she’d decided that she needed to leave. “I'm not one of you,” she added, and Izzy wanted to scream. 

Of course she was. Izzy had never seen a trainee take to Shadowhunting the way Clary did. Izzy had never seen a seraph blade glow as bright as when Clary was holding hers either. Izzy crouched by her side. 

“I'm just some girl from Brooklyn who went out to celebrate her birthday and came back with a present she never wanted,” Clary had tears in her eyes,her voice was raspy, and the heavy breath she took was tight with sadness. “And can't return.”

Izzy gently put her hand on Clary’s arm. She couldn’t bear to see Clary like this. 

“You don't want to return that present,” Izzy whispered. “It's a blessing.” The Angel had given them a purpose. Izzy wasn’t as pious as some other nephilim, but she had this… somewhat unfaltering belief that the Angel was guiding them through the war, watching over them. Raziel had whispered to Jocelyn that keeping Clary hidden was the best path. 

No matter the suffering, Izzy was glad that she had met Clary the way she had. It felt right. Holding Clary’s hand, the way she was now as her hand had slipped down Clary’s forearm, was a blessing. 

She felt butterflies in her stomach and her heart skipped a beat as she saw the redness in Clary’s eyes. All she wanted was to take away her pain. She sighed. 

“Not for me,” Clary whispered. “I… I want to feel normal again, Isabelle.” 

Izzy swallowed. She guessed it was hard for Clary to see that this was… a normal life. She looked away for a second, at the drawing on the page open on the notebook. It was a girl, with frizzy hair and a cute smile. 

“I want my old life back.”

Her old life, in the Brooklyn Academy of Arts, with the girl on the notebook, the one th at made Izzy’s heart clench because it meant that Clary was still thinking about her. 

Why was she so preoccupied with what girl Clary thought about anyway? Izzy liked men. She liked them a lot. 

“I'm sure,” Izzy whispered, shaking her head. She swallowed, and pushed away the thoughts that were threatening to come out of her mouth. “But don't you get it? You have a target on your back. The Institute is the safest place for you. You have a new life now,” Izzy said firmly, burying her feelings as much as she could under facts and danger, under strategy, under war. 

She looked up at Clary. She was looking at her, waiting for something. Izzy didn’t know exactly why she was saying the things that suddenly came out of her mouth.

“You have me. And that's not gonna change.”

Clary smiled at her. Her smile was soft, almost reassuring Izzy that she was okay. Her cheeks were flushed with her attempt at stifling her cries. Izzy wished she could do something to make her better, but her phone was vibrating in her jacket. 

She had a mission to go on. So she stood up, and looked at Clary. Her fingers found a stray strand of red hair and replaced it where it should have originally been, gently, tenderly. Clary seemed to stop breathing for a second. 

\-----------------------

Luke had loved Jocelyn. For decades now, he’d loved her, and trusted her, and had her back. Lately, things had been changing. The revelations of Jocelyn’s true character, the pile of details she’d hidden from him for years, were getting too much. 

The things Valentine had done to Clary, to her brother, Jonathan... Luke knew Jocelyn didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t owe him the details about the things Valentine had done to her when they were married, but he had been Clary’s father. He had also been Clary’s protector, the person, other than Dot, that Jocelyn had explicitly asked to have around Clary as she grew up as sheltered from the Shadow World and her true heritage as possible.

He had the gut feeling that, had the demon blood experiments not been part of why Clary had ran away from the Institute, he would have never learned about it. That made him uneasy. How much more was Jocelyn hiding from him? 

He parked his car in front of the Brooklyn Academy of Art, where they knew Clary was. Jocelyn had gotten hold of a stele, somehow. Luke didn’t want to question it. He was tired of the vague answer he would inevitably get. 

They got out of the car and Jocelyn took a deep breath. “She didn’t activate her anti-tracking rune. She wants to be found.” 

Luke shook his head. “She probably didn’t think about activating it. Runes are not as second nature to her as they are to you, Jocelyn, she’s only been studying them and living with them for less than two months.”

Jocelyn swallowed and said nothing. Luke wished she would show some kind of remorse, but she just pressed on, convinced she was right and that she had done the right thing. 

Truth was, she hadn’t seen Clary’s anguish at being thrown into a world she knew nothing about. She hadn’t seen how scared she was, how frustrated she was because she wasn’t able to defend herself, how she had held herself to the same standard as the Lightwoods. 

Jocelyn had just woken up to Clary’s semi-okay self. She’d woken up to Clary with a hunt-proof hairstyle, several runes, and a building knowledge of the Shadow World. Jocelyn hadn’t been there for the terrifying, and still unfinished, transition. 

It made Luke angry. Angrier than he had been for a long time. He was glad Jocelyn was back, of course, but this was… Jocelyn took everyone around her for granted. 

“She was so angry,” Jocelyn whined. “I can’t believe she just up and left the Institute.” 

Luke could believe it. Clary had not signed up for this. She’d been thrown into the Shadow World because of Jocelyn, and something about the last few weeks told Luke that she hadn’t expected to stay after rescuing her mother. 

Clary’s plan had been to wake Jocelyn and go back to her normal life. Unfortunately, Jocelyn’s omission of the existence of Jace had made that plan impossible to realize. Now, Clary had a brother that she had to save. Now, Clary had a place in the Shadow World that she had never really wanted to have. 

“I hate to say this, but had you come clean with her, she might've understood,” Luke pointed out. Had Clary known everything, she wouldn’t be looking at Jocelyn as if she was a psychotic murderer. Had Clary known everything, she wouldn’t have been so hurt by everything that was only coming out now. 

“I might've understood,” Luke added. “Jace's demon blood? Valentine's experiments? I mean, how could you not tell me that? I tell you everything!” He said angrily.

“I was trying to protect you!” Jocelyn replied, and Luke rolled his eyes.

“Trying to protect me? That's what you said about Clary when we talked about wiping her memory. And look where that got you.”

Luke didn’t need her protection anyway. What he needed was to know the whole truth, be able to make decisions by himself. 

“I was afraid to lose you,” Jocelyn said, voice soft and full of fear and for a second, Luke believed her. Until he didn’t. 

How could she think that he would leave her for this? For something she had no control over, for something that Valentine had done to her, the same way Valentine had so easily shoved him into a barn full of werewolves. 

Did she really think that little of him? Did Jocelyn really not know him? He’d spent 18 years by her side, helping her, hiding the Shadow World from Clary. He’d spent 18 years loving her without faltering. All this time, she hadn’t believed he loved her enough. 

He said nothing. 

Jocelyn broke the silence a moment later. “Let’s go in.” 

“What do you need me for?” Luke replied, crossing his arms, watching her. 

“To talk to her. Convince her she's not safe in the mundane world. Not now.”

In other words, do the work for her. Luke was getting tired. He couldn’t believe that he was actually this exasperated by Jocelyn’s behavior. 

“Look, you're her mother-”

“Exactly,” Jocelyn cut in. “She won't listen to me, but she'll listen to you.”

Of course. Luke rolled his eyes and started walking towards the entrance of the school. Jocelyn followed him quietly. They got in easily, and walked towards the drawing studios where they guessed Clary would be. She had always found solace in drawing, ever since she was a girl. 

They were right. She was standing in the middle of an empty studio. Her hair looked good cut like this. For a moment, he watched her, his daughter. Clary looked mundane again. The sleeves of her jean shirt covered her runes and from behind, she looked just like she had looked before, an artist. 

Her head moved slightly with the music she was listening to. She was drawing the skyline of New York. There were no demons in the corner of the picture. This was the mundane New York, the one that Clary knew, the one that Clary wished she could go back to. At least Luke guessed it was. 

Luke walked towards her gently. She wasn’t turning around. She was so engrossed in her art and the music that the world outside was drowned out. Luke wished he didn’t have to bring her back to the Shadow World. 

Jocelyn was right about one thing though. Clary wasn’t safe outside of the Institute. Valentine would do anything he could to have power, including hurting her. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Luke said softly, touching her shoulder. 

She jumped slightly, gasping, brought back to reality suddenly. She glared at him for it. Luke waited for her to take off her earbuds, but Jocelyn was already talking. Hadn’t she just said that she needed Luke to talk to her? 

“You have to come back to the Institute. It's not safe.”

Clary completely ignored her, just turned to Luke with one of the most exasperated looks he’d ever seen on her. He was mad at himself for letting the tension build up again in her shoulders. 

“So, wait, are you on her side now?” Clary asked.

Luke sighed a little. “There are no sides.”

“So you're okay with her trying to kill Jace?” The accusation rang into the room as she stared at him, waiting for him to betray her too. Luke hated to see her like this. She deserved to not expect betrayal from her parents.

“I didn't say that,” he tried to temperate. “But your mother's right. You need to get back to the Institute.”

Clary sighed, the kind of sigh that was also full of anger and pain. “I can't help Jace,” she said. “I don't have enough training. And even if I did, I'm Valentine's daughter. Nobody there trusts me.”

The pain in her voice was almost unbearable to Luke. This was the kind of situation that he had dreaded would happen, when Jocelyn had made the decision to push back revealing the Shadow World to her daughter, over and over again.

Clary turned to Jocelyn, the resentment palpable. “For 18 years, you made me believe that I could live a normal life,” she accused. She turned around for a moment, looking at the studio around her, the artwork, everything she’d always wanted. 

Luke remembered her fifteenth birthday and the way she’d seriously told him that one day, they would go to a museum and her artwork would be on the walls. It had only been three years ago, but the young woman that stood in front of him now, with ruined dreams at her feet, was another person. 

“This life,” the yearning in Clary’s voice made him curse Jocelyn again. “But I can't, can I? No. 'Cause I'm not a mundane,” she had a bitter chuckle. “I'm not a Shadowhunter. I'm not anything.”

Clary’s dreams were gone. Clary’s passion was gone. She didn’t have a place in this world, and when Luke looked at Jocelyn, her face barely even looked sorry. He swallowed. 

Clary pushed past them, and started running, zigzagging in between easels, towards the exit. They exchanged a look, before they started to run after her. 

When they reached her outside, she was standing in front of Dot Rollins. Dot didn’t look the way she usually did. She looked… different. Her skin was grey and black veins marked her face. The magic she used to open a portal looked… wrong. 

“Clary!” Jocelyn screamed. 

They saw Dot grab Clary’s arm, and Clary followed her, running into the portal. 

“Clary! No!”

The portal closed behind them. Luke looked at Jocelyn. They both knew that Clary was with Valentine now. Deep down, Luke resented Jocelyn. This would never have happened had Clary been told about the Shadow World. 

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


The first thing that hit Clary as she exited the portal, was the smell. It smelled like death, fear and animals, the way she imagined an unkempt zoo would smell. 

It was dark. Around her, people were held in cages. She recognized some Seelies, with the stems growing in their skin. They looked scared. They looked terrible, all of them. 

The desolation around her pulled her attention away from Dot. Even if she’d believed she was dead, even if she hadn’t seen her in over a month, the pain and the fear around her were overpowering. It also smelled like feces. 

A man walked past Clary, barely looking at her. He was tall and muscular. She saw a seraph blade in his hand, and a circle rune on his neck. Circle Member. 

“Wait,” she whispered, taking a few steps. The floor was somewhat wet. “This is Valentine's ship, isn't it?”

She couldn’t believe it. Another parental figure that had betrayed her in the last couple of days. Another one to add to the list of people Clary couldn’t trust. The list was getting longer and longer and every time she added someone she loved to it, she felt like she was dying a little inside. 

Now, she was in Valentine’s claws, because of Dot. Because of Dot, a warlock. It made no sense. Dot was a Downworlder too, a warlock like Magnus Bane. Why would she be siding with Valentine? From what Magnus had told her, Valentine would rather have her dead than anything else. 

“He's misunderstood,” Dot said, and it added to Clary’s suspicion. Something was wrong. 

“He is a murderer! A warlock murderer!” Clary exclaimed. 

“This is war.”

Nothing made sense. This was so wrong. How could Dot say that? How could Dot be on Valentine’s side? Maybe it was something to do with the black veins on her face, the grey-ish tone of her skin, the crazed look in her eyes. She seemed to be under the control of something. She had to be, right? 

“I want you to see something,” Dot said, an air of adoration on her face. 

“What?” 

“There are things that you can do as a Shadowhunter,” Dot explained, the same somewhat adoring look on her face, the same worshipping tone to her voice. “But there's so much more you're capable of. Let me show you.”

She looked so sure, so exalted that Clary found herself nodding. She needed to find something to do. Shadowhunters would never accept her. She couldn’t be a mundane artist anymore. Maybe there was somewhere else she could go, something else she could do. Maybe Dot could show her the way. 

Clary didn’t move back as Dot reached to cup her face. Magic crackled over her skin, in a way that didn’t look like normal magic. But then again, Clary didn’t know enough about magic to be able to judge whether or not it was normal. 

_Death. Fire. Pain. A world in civil war. The magic burning through her veins as she watched, unable to do anything. Explosions, over and over, warlocks standing in the middle of them._

_Mundanes darkened by venom, coughing up bile, acid burning holes into their bodies. Pain, fear. Devastation. Demons summoned by warlocks onto earth, bringing buildings down on mundanes._

_Vampires, draining countries, then turning on each other, turning on Shadowhunters, on other Downworlders for sustenance. Seraph blades killing vampires, but failing at stopping the wave of demon-blooded creatures from destroying the world. Cities burning. Werewolves, tearing crying children apart._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	4. A Door Into the Dark Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is A Door Into the Dark, Part 2! Clary and Jace grow closer as they are stuck on the ship with Valentine!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Simon had been living in the boathouse for a couple of days now. He didn’t hate it. He didn’t love it either, if he was honest. It was far from comfortable. He needed to add some furniture, and an actual bed, because the canoe wasn’t great for sleeping. 

He entered the boathouse and slid the door closed, sighing a little. He hadn’t seen Clary in a while. He hadn’t seen anyone in a while. Luke was very obviously busy, and he didn’t exactly have friends in the Shadow World, or in the vampire clan. 

He turned around. Standing in front of him was Raphael Santiago. Simon gasped, taking a step back, his back hitting the door he’d just closed. Raphael looked pissed. It made sense. The last time they’d seen each other, Simon had disrespected him and had gotten Camille out of their custody.

“Hey, bud,” Raphael said. “Como estas?” 

Simon swallowed. “Raphael, amigo! Can I get you a pint of O-neg?” He stammered, moving away from Raphael’s scrutinizing gaze and from the door, deeper into the boathouse.

“Explain to me why you told Victor Aldertree I'm responsible for a vampire den in Flatbush.” Raphael asked. 

Oh fuck. Simon had not wanted that to happen. “No, I didn't say that. I said that those decisions are way above my pay grade, that they come from guys at the top like you,” he rambled and…. Oh shit. “Now, saying it back, I can see how they came to that conclusion.”

Aldertree had made Simon incredibly uncomfortable. It had been two days since his interview, he was not expecting it to have any real repercussions. He thought he’d evaded the accusation easily. He’d been so wrong. 

“That was one of Camille's dens,” Raphael hissed. “Not mine!” 

“I thought that was Maria's den.”

“Camille turned Maria too, genius,” Raphael rolled his eyes. It wasn’t THAT obvious. At least not to Simon. He didn’t know enough about vampire behavior yet. “And now, because of you, I'm being called in to answer for it. Do you have any idea what the Clave does to vampires who violate the Accords?” 

Horrible, horrible things, no doubt. “I'm not sure I want to know.” Simon said, voice blank. 

Raphael looked at him, and Simon knew he was going to get the description. He wasn’t really expecting niceties from the Clave. He’d seen the way they acted. He’d gotten the feeling the Clave was deeply, deeply racist.

“They nail us to crosses, then let shafts of sunlight burn off our body parts, one at a time.” 

That was even worse than expected. “Which body part? You know what? Don't answer that. I can probably talk to Clary about it.” 

Raphael shook his head. “No, you're gonna find Camille and bring her back to the Hotel DuMort. Stop hiding behind your Shadowhunter friends and act like a vampire. Deal with it like a vampire.” He hissed.

“Why me?” He had no desire to see Camille ever again. She terrified him. She was ancient and violent and manipulative and she’d sexually assaulted him, while he’d been high on her blood. 

“Because you and your friends are the ones who let her out. She's your sire. Use your connection to her, or die trying.”

\--------------

Clary had finally been let out of the belly of the ship. She’d just spent hours in there watching through little windows as the sun set and rose again, and she spent longer and longer in there. The sun was setting again this time as she ran onto the deck. 

From far away, she saw him, the one she’d been wanting to get to since she’d stepped onto the ship, right after Dot had let go of her. She shuddered as she thought about what she’d seen again.  _ Green eyes of rabid wolves tearing people to shreds.  _

Jace was standing on the edge of the deck, looking at the water and at the skyline. Clary ran to him. He didn’t seem to notice that she was running towards him. That was strange. Jace had his Hearing Rune activated pretty much always. 

She walked up to him and reached over to his shoulder. “Jace?” 

When he turned around, his face was distorted by hatred. He grabbed her wrist and turned around, forcing her back against his chest, her arm stretched painfully in the crook of his elbow. His other arm wrapped around her neck. One move and he could break her arm or shoulder. 

“I've had enough of your mind games.” Jace snarled into her ear. What the Hell?

“It's me,” Clary whispered, twisting her head so she could look at him in the eyes.

“Right,” Jace huffed, shifting, pushing her arm to bend a little more in the way it wasn’t supposed to bend. She winced at the pain in her shoulder.

Jace wasn’t okay. He’d been with Valentine for ten days now, and it was obvious it had done some damage. She couldn’t imagine what he’d done to him, to make him react like that to seeing her. 

“Jace, it's me. I swear!” She shouted, as he put more painful pressure on her arm. “Remember when we went to the precinct to get the Cup and I slapped you in front of everyone? God, you were so mad at me. I kinda enjoyed it. Retribution for letting me get encantoed by that vamp at Hardtail.” She chuckled. 

She felt Jace sigh behind her, and then drop his arms pretty quickly. He gently petted her arm, as if to apologize for hurting it earlier. He looked at her like he hadn’t seen her in forever. There was something thankful about the way he looked at her.

“What are you doing here?” Jace asked softly. 

“Dot brought me.” Clary explained. 

Jace nodded. He had probably seen her around the boat some time. Dot had probably been here since the beginning. Clary still felt somewhat guilty about not looking for her.

“She wanted to show me something. Jace, I... I know this sounds crazy, I saw the future.” She still couldn’t believe it. She still couldn’t shake the images out of her head. They had been haunting her since Dot had let go of her.

“No, that's not, that's not possible,” Jace shook his head. “Shadowhunters can't do that, Clary.” 

Clary sighed. “Then I guess I'm not your ordinary Shadowhunter. It felt real. As real as your demon blood. Neither of us are ordinary, I think it’s time we accept that.”

He seemed to be surprised at her sudden confidence in her own Shadowhunter abilities. Clary waved that thought away. She needed to make him understand that if they didn’t do something, what she’d seen  _ was _ going to happen. 

“What did you see?” 

“The Downworlders,” Clary said. “They slaughter the mundanes, one by one, until there's no one left. And, Jace, with your demon blood, you're the only one that can stop them.” It felt like it wasn’t her own words. And yet she believed them somewhat. 

Jace was looking at her as if she was insane. As if she was someone other than Clary, his sister. He took a step away from her then stopped as Valentine walked up to them. 

“My children,” Valentine sighed happily. “Reunited here... This is what I've always wanted. To be with my family.” He seemed so genuinely happy that it made Clary want to puke. 

Her head was hurting slightly.  _ Death. Fear. Fire.  _ She shook her head. 

“You and I are not family,” she spat. 

“Clary, I am your father, and I do love you,” Valentine said, looking at her, something so earnest in his voice that Clary wanted to punch him just to shut him up. 

_ I am your father and I do love you. _ His words echoed her thoughts as she grew up, her childish prayers towards what some kids called Heaven, hoping her dad was there, and that he was looking at her, and that he loved her. 

A part of her still had that hope, that her father was looking out for her and loved her. Her father, who stood in front of her, and whose words fit in the holes in her heart so well. Too many people had betrayed her. Too many people she thought were her family. 

“So are you gonna join Jeremy? He's going big game hunting,” Valentine asked Jace. He then turned to Clary with a smile. “We just got intel on the wolf that killed Jeremy's father. Jeremy’s one of our newest recruits. You’ll like him Clarissa, he’s a smart and handsome young man,” he pointed out, with an inviting smile. “We're gonna bring the beast back to the boat.”

Jace shook his head, declining the offer. Valentine had a small wince but walked past Jace to look at her. “Look, since Jace doesn't want to go, why don't you come along, Clary? Hone those Shadowhunting skills of yours, huh?”

“No,” Jace immediately snapped. Clary saw Valentine’s slight satisfied smirk. “She's,” Jace hesitated for a moment. “She's not ready to face a cornered werewolf. I'll go.”

Valentine smirked. “Good, son. Go get your seraph blade. Clarissa, I’m sure you’ll find some way to pass time.” he nodded at her, before following Jace away from her. 

Clary sighed. She stayed alone for a moment, before she decided to get into action. She needed to send a message to the Institute. For that, she needed a stele. Hopefully, she could steal one from one of the guards. 

\-----------

Magnus felt strange, being in India, in Camille’s home, without her. The last time he’d been here had been before their last break up. Somewhere in the beginning of the 19th century, they had spent a winter here, wrapped up in blood red sheets. She liked her sheets dark red or black. The stains didn’t show as much, when she spilled some blood when drinking from someone. 

At the time, that someone had been him, often. Camille got drunk on the power in his veins, and he got high on the weightlessness her venom gave him. He was lucky to be a warlock, to have his body more resistant to addiction than other species. Else he would have been hooked on her venom. 

He gathered object after object, most of them his, a couple of them hers. She deserved it. He took a golden bracelet, golden pearls and jewels encasing a dark stone. He didn’t seem to remember the exact occasion he’d given her this one. She’d gotten so many things from him. 

In a corner of one of the rooms, he saw a painting of Camille and himself. “Oh, why do they always seem to get my bad side?” He muttered. He’d thought he was happy then. 

He had no desire to be in that state again, dependant and hopelessly devoted to someone. He had no desire to make himself this vulnerable again. 

Alec was threatening to do that. To become Magnus’ world. It scared him to no end. It scared him to think that he could let someone in again, let someone potentially break him. He wouldn’t survive yet another one of those violent heartbreaks. He could only take so much. 

Magnus swallowed. A part of him knew that he would be okay in Alec’s hands. The other part screamed that he was a Shadowhunter. He couldn’t be trusted. Because one day, Magnus would end up with a seraph blade against his throat, to finally be punished for all his crimes against the Clave. 

He’d made himself indispensable. He’d made himself so deeply intertwined with the Shadowhunters that killing him or imprisoning him would be a hassle and a loss for them. 

Some warlocks had once called him a traitor for how he  _ kissed up  _ to the Clave. Magnus just did what he needed to survive. He’d always been a survivor. A hopeless romantic, maybe, but a survivor. He would have let people burn in his stead. He would have felt horrible about it, but if he’d survived, he’d have done it anyway.

Few knew the less pretty side of him. Many, like Raphael, saw him as this… gentle and kind person, with an open heart and an open hand, and though Magnus was this person… there were parts of him that were entirely less pretty. 

Magnus himself had difficulties accepting those parts some days. 

He was looking around the room one last time, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything when he saw it. A reminder of one of the least pretty parts of him. 

There was no doubt in his mind that it was THE keris. He thought for a moment that if he looked close enough, he would see the specks of his mother’s blood still on the blade. 

Camille had had it for decades. How had she even gotten it? Magnus swallowed as his fingers made contact with the wood of the handle. It was in perfect condition. For the first time in years, he struggled to push down the memories that threatened to overcome in. 

He looked away as he put it into the bag he’d been carrying. It was easier when it wasn’t in his direct line of sight. He shook his head, willing the memories away, and walked out of the room. He was done now. 

Magnus portalled himself into the main lounge of the building. 

A cheerful “Hey, Magnus.” greeted him. 

Simon. He’d almost forgotten Simon for a moment, the young vampire that he’d been so reluctant to help earlier. How quickly things changed? He’d led him into several of Camille’s old lairs, searching for a way to bring her back to justice. 

“There you are,” Magnus smiled. He caught sight of another thing. The snake. His lovely little fire breathing snake. “And there it is. My baby.” He cooed at the reptile. 

“Your baby?” 

Magnus nodded, looking at the animal lovingly. “I created it for Camille ages ago. The best gift I ever gave.” He loved reptiles. And he loved this one especially. What a wonderful creation. 

Magnus reached over and gently patted the head of the snake, who seemed to be entirely content with that. This was maybe the best thing about coming here. He got to see his lovely little Vasuki. Maybe he should get the serpent back home to New York soon...

“Great. Well, then, maybe don't include me on your Hanukkah list.” Simon mumbled. 

“He didn't scare you, did he?” Magnus asked, patting the serpent again.

“No, of course not. Came out of the serpent statue, so I encantoed him, and took what it was guarding. No big.” 

Magnus nodded. Good. He was growing into himself finally. Encanto was relatively hard for young vampires to master, especially young anxious ones like Simon. Magnus was glad this trip had unlocked something inside of him. 

“Back to New York, then?”

\--------------------

Dot was exhausted. She could feel the effects of the injections weakening, her mind getting clearer and her magic rushing back inside of her. She’d never really been the most powerful warlock out there, but the injections made her feel like she was running through water. 

She walked slowly through the belly of the tanker, trying not to look at the Shadow People that were being held in cages, alone, afraid, experimented on, just like her. She swallowed. She couldn’t let the guilt take her over. She was a survivor. 

Dot had never been like Magnus or Catarina. Magnus had always found a way to care, to cry for those that died in his place. She couldn’t. 

She’d never really been selfless, she’d never really been the one to sacrifice herself to save others. Whatever she’d done for Jocelyn, she’d done it first because she’d been given a lot of good money to do a job that required minimal effort. And then, she’d grown to like Clary and Jocelyn a little, and it had been downhill from there. Her care had led to her taking risks for them. The kind of risks that threatened her life. And it made her… feel for them, when they were the wife and child of a man that wanted her dead on the basis of her blood.

Hurting Clary was something that made her feel bad. For the first time, in a long time, it had made her feel bad to do something that was in the interest of her own survival.

“What did you do to me?” Clary shouted from a cage as she saw Dot approach, and Dot would have never let anyone think that her heart was actually breaking. 

“I'm so sorry, Clary.” She whispered. She’d seen that girl grow up. She’d seen her cry herself to sleep because of a broken heart, she’d helped her through figuring out that being gay was okay. She’d taken her to her first pride. And now she’d hurt her like this. 

“Up there with Jace, that... that wasn't me talking. I can't see the future, can I?”

Poor little girl. Valentine had been right. She’d been gullible, believed the lie that she’d seen the future, believed that everything she’d seen had been from her own power, unbridled truth, not coming from Dot. 

Dot sighed softly. “No. Valentine made me cast a spell on you so that you'd do as I'd say.”

“You used me.” Clary’s voice was harsh with betrayal.

“And I have to do it again,” Dot replied. She schooled her features, schooled herself into her usual ruthless exterior. Clary didn’t know that part of her. “It wears off quickly on Shadowhunters.” With that, she reached inside of Clary’s cage. 

Clary could barely move, barely push her away. The cage was small, only the space for us to stand, definitely no space for her to sit or lay. There was nowhere for her to go, even as she tried. She pleaded and begged, tried to get away from Dot’s hands and Dot’s power, dulled out as it was. “No, Dot! Please, no! You don't have to do this.”

“If I don't, he'll get angry, and we don't want that.” Dot replied, and tried harder to get to her. She needed to get the spell on her again, she needed Clary to be obedient. Else, she would get hurt again. Valentine didn’t take failure very well. 

“Dot, remember, remember when I got grounded when my mom realized that I went to see Simon's band?” Clary pleaded, looking at her with such wide, pleading eyes. Dot remembered, of course she did. Her tiny little Clary, the one thing that had made Dot think she could maybe help raise a kid one day. “You brought me gelato from Little Italy to cheer me up. I will never forget that.”

Clary pressed herself against the cage now, looked at her. Dot could almost feel her pray for Dot to stop hurting her. She bit her lip. Maybe Valentine had thought that Dot would be easier to control than someone like Magnus, much stronger and much  _ better.  _ But Clary was her weakness. 

“It wasn't from Little Italy,” she said softly. She hated the tears in her own voice. The injections were really gone now, her emotions were coming back. She remembered portalling to Rome and getting that ice cream, because Clary wasn’t smiling much. “It was from Rome.” 

“See? You were like a big sister to me. Dot, you have always had my back, no matter what.”

Not this time. She couldn’t have her back this time. Dot needed to obey Valentine’s orders, else she would be in a world of pain. The way Clary looked at her made her also feel something else. She hadn’t seen Clary in weeks. No one had come looking for her. 

“Did you ever look for me?” Dot asked, looking at Clary. 

Clary paused for a moment. “I… Magnus searched for you for a long time.”  _ But I didn’t.  _

“Valentine experimented on me. Tortured me. Until I listened to him in fear that he’d do more.” Dot couldn’t stop herself from saying those words. “You didn’t look for me. I’m like your big sister, but you forgot about me.” 

\-----------

The keris was inside of his apartment now. It was the first time he had brought it here. For a second, Magnus wondered if it was the first time something from that period of his life made it to New York. 

The memories of his childhood had been stifled and pushed back long before he’d arrived, and he didn’t think he owned anything from Java anymore. It seemed somewhat fitting that the first object he brought back was this one. 

His hand was surprisingly steady as he held up the weapon. It seemed so small, so breakable, so unable to cause the horror it had caused in Magnus’ life. Of all the things he’d taken back from Camille, this… this was by far the most valuable. And not only because it was a traditionally-made keris from the early 17th century.

His mind was trying to bring memories back up, fooling him with the mirage of the smell of blossoming  _ melati putih _ and he was thankful when Simon’s voice resounded next to him, bringing him back to the present. Thank Allah for him. 

“Listen, Antiques Roadshow, you got all your stuff back, but Raphael still wants to kill me, and Camille is nowhere to be found.” 

Magnus put down the keris, finally, and closed the box. It wasn’t a display box, it was one with a plain lid, something that wouldn’t allow him to steal glances at the weapon.

“We might not have her, but at least we have this.” Magnus said, taking the little wooden box that Simon had brought back from India. 

“This? From inside the serpent statue? This helps me how?” Simon asked, taking the box and looking at it. 

Magnus had brought back a small jade statue of a guardian lion. He had the second of the pair already here, and had thought this one lost until he’d seen it in Camille’s apartment. Had she stolen it, or had he left it there by mistake? 

“If Camille had that snake guarding it, it must be precious to her,” he explained, going to place the small statue in his library with the second one. “Maybe you can use what's inside it to lure her back. If you can get it open.”

“How?” 

“I wish I knew,” Magnus shrugged. “Whatever it is, it has wards keeping warlocks like me out.” That was another sign that it was very precious to Camille. She’d gotten a warlock to add wards so powerful he couldn’t crack them. She’d wanted to make it Magnus-proof. That meant a lot, for someone who knew Camille the way Magnus knew her. 

“Maybe I can, uh, you know, pry it open.” Simon mumbled and Magnus raised an eyebrow. 

He turned around to watch what Simon was prying it open with. The keris. Magnus jumped immediately. “No! Not with this. It's too important.” He couldn’t let anything happen to this keris, no matter what. It was a relic. It wasn’t something that could be used like this. He took the weapon from Simon and took it back to its box, barely holding onto it. He didn’t want to break it. 

“You know what else is important? The parts Raphael wants to burn off me if we don't find Camille.” Simon protested. 

“We'll figure it out, Simon,” Magnus sighed. But they couldn’t use the keris. Ever. This keris had ruined Magnus’ life once, had broken him into pieces for the very first time, long before Camille had even met him. 

“We?” Simon had some disbelief in his voice. Magnus guessed he understood why. A couple of hours ago, Magnus had made it very clear that he had no intention to make this partnership last much longer than Simon absolutely needed.

Finding the keris had changed something. It had reminded Magnus of who he had been a long time ago. When he’d been alone. Simon was alone right now. Magnus guessed it was sort of Simon’s fault for betraying Raphael the way he had, but he could understand that Simon was lost. Becoming a Shadow denizen was complicated, especially when you had deep ties with the Nephilim. Simon’s bond to Clary was working against him when it came to his relationship to the Shadow Kinds. 

“When I was a boy, discovering my powers, I had no one,” Magnus explained. “I had to figure out the Shadow World all on my own.” It wasn’t a lie. The first year or so when Magnus had been alone on the streets, before Asmodeus had found him, had been terrifying. 

He hadn’t known that there could be warlocks around to help him. Sometimes, he thought he had been lucky anyway, because he had not been found by Nephilim. Then, young warlocks that were taken in by Nephilim were given to the Silent Brothers. Magnus knew a few people who had been through that, the uprooting process of staying in the City of Bones as a warlock and being taught that you were evil for existing. 

Magnus had had enough trouble with accepting what he was. He couldn’t imagine the state he would be in, had he been through the ‘education’ of the Silent Brothers. 

“It was awful. So I vowed to myself that if I ever found someone in a similar situation, I'd try to make sure they didn't have to go through it alone.” Magnus finished. 

“So you're gonna be, like, my Downworld sponsor. Cool.” Simon smiled and Magnus had a small chuckle. He was cute. Young and hopeful and full of innocence. Magnus felt the need to protect that. 

“Let's not get carried away,” Magnus chuckled. “I said I'll try. Even though I've lived more centuries than I'd like to admit, it doesn't mean I'm patient.” He was teasing, but Simon seemed to take it a bit seriously. 

“Noted.” 

Magnus had a small sigh. “First lesson. Downworld is the word the Shadowhunters use. We call ourselves Shadow Kinds, or Shadow People.” 

\---------

Capturing the wolf had been relatively easy. She hadn’t been expecting it. She had probably thought that they were with the Clave and was lured into a false sense of security by the fact that he used to be with the Institute. 

She knew him as a law-respecting Shadowhunter. She knew him as someone who upheld all of the Accords. But he couldn’t be, not anymore. If what Clary had told him was true… Jace couldn’t afford to follow the Accords anymore. 

He wished he had been able to ask her to share the memory of what she’d seen with him, but he’d had to leave to get the wolf.

The wolf was young. She was around the same age as him. A part of him wanted to stop what he was doing. She didn’t deserve to be in the belly of the ship, caged like the rest of the Downworlders there. 

“Ah, there you are!” Valentine said as Jace and Jeremy brought the bound girl to him. Jace attached the chains to a part of the bannister. Valentine sounded pleased. “There's only one last thing for you to do,” Valentine added, and Jace tensed a little, before looking back at him with a frown. “Kill her.”

The wolf immediately started struggling. “No! Please!” Tears started running down her face. Jace started feeling bad. She was just a kid. Just like him. 

“She's our prisoner. She can't hurt anybody here.” He protested. 

Valentine sighed, looking at him. He seemed to entirely ignore the girl that shook like a leaf by Jace’s side. “If only she had shown her victims as much mercy.” He seemed almost genuinely sad. 

Jace knew better. This was the tone of fake pity that his father had used before, when talking to him.  _ If only you’d actually succeeded in doing what you were told to do.  _ It was the tone that put the blame on him, for not being enough, for not being perfect. 

“After what she did, we're letting her off easy,” Jeremy said. This was the kind of situation that reminded Jace how easily someone could turn to the extreme. Jeremy seemed like a great kid, but all it took was the right person whispering exactly what he wanted to hear in his ear, and now he’s on the extreme path to murder. 

“What are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong.” The wolf cried out, looking at them pleadingly. 

“Five years ago, my father was mauled to death by a white wolf.” Jeremy accused, looking at her. 

The girl seemed to search for a memory of something like that. She might not remember. Wolves did not always remember attacking mundanes in rage-filled nights in their wolf form. She wouldn’t have been the first to attack a mundane, or not to remember it and she wouldn’t be the last. She didn’t reply. 

Jace moved to look at her in the eyes. She looked terrified. “That was you,” he said simply, bringing his seraph blade to her throat. “You did that, didn't you?” She shook her head, she begged, she looked at him with such pleading eyes that he felt himself falter. “You murdered him, an innocent mundane.”

“No, I've never killed anyone. I swear. I'm telling the truth.” She cried.

She was lying. She had to be lying. He had to get her to tell him she’d killed Jeremy’s father. Else he didn’t know if he could deal with killing her. He needed a reason, a good reason. 

“Don't lie to me,” Jace warned, the runes on his seraph blade shining as he tightened his grip on the handle. 

“Please don't kill me. I've obeyed the Accords. I'm part of Luke's pack. We don't hurt anyone. We're not like that.” She begged. 

Jace didn’t really put it past Luke and the New York Pack to hide a murder like this from the Clave. Luke knew better than anyone what happened when a murderous wolf was sent to the Clave for justice. The Clave’s executions were maybe a little more painful than a simple blade to the throat. 

“A wolf will say anything to go free, but she can never change what she is,” Valentine said softly, standing behind Jace, speaking directly to the doubts he’d been having. “You let her live, son, and she will kill again and again and again.” 

Jace watched the girl. She wasn’t even begging anymore, she just looked at him. She was putting her fate in his hands. He didn’t want to kill an innocent, but Valentine was right. Werewolves were killers. Clary had said so. 

“Jace!” Clary’s voice resounded just as he was using her words to steady himself and get himself to kill the girl. 

“Clarissa, how nice of you to join us,” Valentine smiled. “Perhaps you can convince your brother to finish what he started.” He was using her to tell him again what she’d said earlier. Jace knew he wouldn’t resist for much longer if he had to hear her say it again and again. 

He trusted Clary. He trusted her more than Valentine, he trusted her with Downworlder issues. She’d been raised by a wolf, she’d been the one to hold him, Izzy and Alec back when they made quick judgements. If she told him that killing the girl was the good thing to do, then he would. 

Jace turned and looked at her, questioning her with a look. 

“Jace, I need you to listen to me. Everything I said before, I was under a spell,” she said. That was all he needed. He nodded at her. “Run!” 

He grabbed her hand, and they started running away from Valentine, Jeremy and the wolf. They needed to get away. He couldn’t believe he had almost killed an innocent girl. 

“Jonathan!” Valentine called behind them. Circle members appeared from nowhere, and Dot stood there, watching them, a reminder of the magical barrier that surrounded the ship. They would probably die if they tried to jump. “There's no way out.” 

The Circle members charged. Jace didn’t hesitate. He needed to get out. And these people would be better off dead, not going after more Downworlders. He secured his grip on his seraph blade and blocked the two men’s attacks. 

He was stronger than them. They were newly turned mundanes, and he had been training for decades. And he had demon blood. He made quick work of taking the two men down. They were not on the same level as him. 

He ended up having to kill them. He didn’t feel as bad about it as he would have felt killing the werewolf girl. He grabbed Clary’s hand again, and they ran towards the edge of the deck. Valentine was screaming for them to come back. 

“Jonathan, Clarissa, come back here! There's nowhere to run!” Valentine screamed. 

Dot ran towards them and opened the wards. Jace hadn’t been expecting that from her. He looked at her and nodded. He grabbed Clary tighter, and ran. He jumped as far as he could, then Clary and he tumbled down in the dark towards the water. The fall seemed to last forever. 

\-------------

In the dark of the East River, Clary saw something that Dot hadn’t shown her, maybe the second part to her earlier ‘vision’. 

_ A bright flash of light. Two people were floating in mid-air, surrounded by a halo of white and golden light. Golden wings and white wings. A red-haired woman and a blond-haired man. They were holding hands. The demons died as the two lights burnt through the city. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	5. Lover Lost Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I think maybe some of you are wondering: 
> 
> How is she going to do the Parabatai Lost episode now that Alec and Jace aren't parabatai in this universe?
> 
> Well, my good readers, here it is. Parabatai Love becomes Lover Lost...
> 
> Hope you enjoy this!

Maia was running.  _ They found a young woman’s body on the beach, with silver hair.  _ She had dropped everything and had just started running towards the subway, then outside of the subway. 

She hadn’t heard about Gretel since the day before, and then Taito had told her that she’d been abducted. And now she was dead. Maia’s heart might have stopped beating at some point. 

She didn’t have time to know what to do, to figure out everything. She was just running towards the beach. She could see the water now, and she saw the lights of the police cars, the way they reflected against the walls of the buildings around them. 

She saw Luke standing from far away, and Alaric next to him and they stood next to a body in a bag on a gurney and fuck, it was going to be Gretel. She knew it, she didn’t have any sliver of hope. 

She wasn’t ready to lose someone again, not when she’d just found some small part of balance in her life. She wasn’t ready to lose Gretel, the first person in the last few years that had managed to help her be more vulnerable. 

Their relationship was too young for much more than physical intimacy, but… Maia didn’t know if she could stand to lose her. If she could stand to be alone again. 

Alaric was showing Luke a sketch on a notepad. Maia stopped running a couple meters from the two of them. Luke and Alaric looked up immediately. Luke took a step forward. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Maia,” he said, as softly as he could, while Alaric moved to shield the body bag from her. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Maia asked, looking at him. “Please.” She didn’t know if she was asking for him to tell her it wasn’t her, or if she was asking for him to tell her that it was. 

Luke sighed, and took her hand. “You can’t be here. I’ll drive you home.” 

“Do you know who did it?” Maia asked again, looking between the two men expectantly. She felt the rage start to take over. Rage was often the main emotion that took over everything else when she was upset. She was often too mad to be sad or in pain. 

It wasn’t the most healthy, and she was working on it. She was working on a lot of things. 

Luke took her arm and looked over at Alaric. The man nodded, taking over the crime scene as Luke gently led Maia away from the cars and the body, and the messiness of it all. 

“She was found by a runner. I can’t tell you much else, you know that.” Luke said softly, looking at her. 

“I’m her girlfriend. At least I was.” Maia stared at him. “Luke, I can’t just go to work and pretend everything’s okay when I know it just isn’t.” 

“You have to. It’s going to be hard, but you have to. We’re going to do whatever we can to bring the one who did this to her to justice, but Maia you’re not law enforcement. You have to stay out of this.” 

Maia rolled her eyes. “So you’re going to keep this with the mundanes? Have their Sight-less people go through the entire thing and find absolutely nothing? Taito said she’d been taken by rogue Shadowhunters.” 

Luke frowned. “Taito told you that?” 

“Yes. He called me today. Asked if I had any news of Gretel. Told me he’d hoped she had escaped and come back to me.” Maia explained. “Please, Luke, we have to do  _ something _ .” 

Luke sighed. “I’m going to drive you home. Then, I will drive you to work. And you’re going to stay there, and work, and I’ll keep you updated about everything.” 

Maia didn’t answer. She needed more, and she knew Luke wouldn’t give it to her. So she had two solutions: resign herself to wait until Luke was done with the investigation, or take the matter into her own hands. 

\-----------------

Clary could feel a headache blooming under her skull. She could also feel some sort of weird drowning feeling as she sipped on the hot tea that Aldertree had the cafeteria get for her. She’d swallowed way too much water lately. 

She sat by the fireplace in his office, the warmth of the flames dancing across her back. The man watched her with a thoughtful look on his face and Clary wanted to tell him to stop. She was tired. Jace was nowhere to be seen and everything felt wrong. 

What Dot had shown her, even if it was only a spell, had shaken her to the ground. She’d always seen the Downworlders as just normal people. Yes, they had the potential to be bad, but so did the Shadowhunters, and so did mundanes. The vision had somewhat changed things. 

She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t true, but the images… the idea that demon blood made them inherently bad, it made sense in a way that was incredibly uncomfortable to her. After all, Valentine had gone insane when he’d taken demon blood. After all, Jace had violence and anger management issues. 

She’d seen vampires threatening to kill anyone and everyone, she’d seen wolves tearing each other to shreds. She’d seen the power that Dot had, a warlock’s power, able to take down several warriors and able to manipulate minds. She’d seen Seelie lies. 

What if the vision was… not entirely wrong? 

“It appears you've had quite the harrowing experience,” Aldertree said as he sat down on a chair next to her. 

His falsely empathetic tone brought her back to the current situation. He wanted to know about Jace and Valentine, he wanted her to slip again, to tell him that Jace was a criminal again. 

“Lucian Graymark tells me you were abducted by Dorothea Rollins, a warlock under Valentine's control.”

It was strange to hear Luke being called Lucian Graymark. She knew it was his True name, his Shadowhunter name, but she’d always known him as Luke Garroway. She nodded. 

“Uh, that's right.”

Aldertree watched her with the eyes of a hawk, waiting for her to flinch, waiting for anything that would make her say something he wanted her to say. Not this time. She made mistakes, but she learned from them. 

“Did she Portal you to a tanker ship in the East River?”  He leaned back in his chair, trying to make her feel comfortable. It had the opposite effect. 

“I'm not sure.”  Clary put the tea down. She didn’t like the way Aldertree talked, the way he tried to get her to trust him. He talked too sweetly, it almost sickened her.

He studied her, and she knew he could tell she was lying. His hands moved a bit, his eyes following her every movement. He took in her shivering figure; she was still cold despite the roaring fire at her back. The chill of the icy water wouldn’t leave her bones. She had rarely felt more vulnerable, but she resolved herself. She was going to be strong.

“Three hours ago, a large tanker ship was found there, recently abandoned.” He said this in an almost satisfied tone. He was gloating his triumph over her, she realized. He wanted her to be flustered and get caught up in her lies. “By the mottoes and the insignia on the boat, it's clear the Circle was on board. If you have any information about Valentine, about Jace you need to tell me.”

There he went again with his false concern. He was back close to her, creating a false intimacy that disgusted Clary.The longer she was in this office, close to this man, the more nervous she grew. She hated him for making her feel so small. 

“The last thing I remember is Dot grabbing me off the street. ” Despite her nervousness, she knew she had to be strong. For Jace. For her brother. “Then I... I woke up in the water. I was nearly run over by the Staten Island Ferry, and then I swam to shore and came here.”

“If you're trying to protect your brother, lying to me is only gonna make it worse. I can guarantee Jace's safety if you help me bring him in. And that's on record.”  He tilted his head slightly, motioning in the direction of the phone that was recording their interview. She remembered the last time he had interrogated her, when he’d used her words to put a Dead or Alive warrant on Jace. There had been no recording then. 

So that was his game. She had suspected as such, but she didn’t think he would ever be that direct about it. She had gotten too used to his tricks and sweet talks already. Clary hated herself a little bit for almost falling into the obvious trap, for almost trusting him. She wanted Jace back here, back where he belonged, with his family, with her. But she would never trust a man like Aldertree to bring him in safely. It was his fault she couldn’t go to him before.

“I would if I could, but I can't tell you what I don't know. Dot must have wiped my memory.”  She replied with as much innocence as she could muster, looking at him with almost teary eyes. 

The lie felt easy on her tongue. That one, she knew Aldertree wouldn’t see through so easily. He probably suspected she lied, yes, but he had no trust in downworlders. She knew he wouldn’t question this too much. 

Perhaps they were at a standstill, both knowing that the other was lying. Clary found that she didn’t care if Aldertree knew she was his enemy. 

\------------------

The howls of the wolves had kept Simon awake all morning. He wondered briefly how no one from the police or animal control services had come to check what was going on. 

Maybe it was just him they were bothering, when he was trying so hard to fall asleep. He could also just be mistaken on vampires’ abilities to sleep. That wouldn’t be the first time he was making such mistakes.

He was laying down as still as possible, trying very hard to find the boat comfortable, and failing spectacularly. He was struggling to get used to this. His life was so different, and it felt like it had no purpose. 

It didn’t have much of a purpose before, if he was being honest. He was 18, and honestly struggling with knowing what he would do for the rest of his life. Now? It wasn’t the rest of his life he had to worry about, but possible eternity. 

That scared him absolutely shitless. He’d spent a few nights awake just thinking about this, and all the other anxiety-inducing things that had been brought in by the vampirism. Maybe that should have been an early sign that vampires couldn’t sleep. He’d been strangely prone to insomnia lately. 

Simon shifted a little and the entire boat moved. He cursed, and tried to close his eyes again.

Immediately, his phone rang. 

Simon sat up. He’d left the device down with some of the clothing and various items he’d taken when he’d moved into the boathouse. 

He swung his legs over the border of the boat and pushed. The fall felt like forever, but he had perfect timing and shifted so he landed on his feet. It should have hurt his joints, but it didn’t. He’d never been athletic, but this was the proof that vampirism didn’t care about the starting point of your abilities. It made you incomprehensibly better. 

Even with the heightened speed, he arrived too late, and when he picked up the phone, all he saw was a great number of messages. He licked his lips and tapped on the first one. 

"Simon, it’s Mom," his mother’s voice spoke. "I haven’t heard from you in a while. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Hearing the worry in her voice made him feel incredibly shitty. She deserved better. Simon didn’t know how he could make it better, but she certainly deserved it. 

She deserved a son that was alive and well, not one that was dead and walking closer and closer to being a complete wreck every single day. Not a son that lived in a boathouse and whose friends seemed to have entirely abandoned him. Not a son who didn’t call, hid away in the shadows and tried to forget the reality of his life now. Because Elaine Lewis didn’t know he had something to forget. 

Simon swallowed and licked his lips, tapping on the next one. 

"Simon, I’m really worried," her voice sounded strained and he remembered that kind of tone from when his dad was alive, or from when she talked about his family. 

"I know you said you wanted to try living in the dorms," she continued, and Simon’s heart would have stopped beating if it still beat. "But I called your RA, and he said no one has seen you in weeks." 

Fuck. There had been no plan but if there had been any, this wouldn’t be part of it. "What’s going on? Please call me back."

His mom was worried and it was all his fault, and it wasn’t like he could walk home and say "Hi, Mom, sorry for not calling, I’m fine, I was just living in the boathouse in front of the Jade Wolf and getting all my food from blood bags and trying to get a hold of Luke or Clary and failing entirely and feeling like I don’t exist anymore in anyone’s mind because I don’t feel like I’m alive anymore because I’m actually dead, I’m a fucking vampire, how are you?" 

He needed to call her back though. Or do something. Because she wasn’t okay, and he wasn’t okay about her not being okay because of him. 

\------------------------

Jace didn’t know where he was going, but he was going there. He had run into the Manhattan streets, knowing that if he didn’t hurry, he would be caught by the mundane police. His glamours were down but still, few really stared at him too much. A lot of people jogged in the morning. And he could always trust the human tendency to ignore the disturbing. 

He had reached Chinatown a little while ago, and had settled into a walking pace, trying to find somewhere that could let him place a call. It was early, few things were open. 

They came out of the alleyway, two mundane policemen. Jace ducked immediately into a nearby bar. With luck, they would have a phone. It seemed to be common practice, for bars to have phones drunk people could call a cab or a friend with. 

If not, he could probably clean the blood off of his hands and face and have a drink, hopefully, there were some coins in his pockets that would get him... something. 

There were a few customers and music hummed in the background. It was nice, Jace thought. He wished he was coming here for a drink. He wished he was not running from the police. 

The bartender was looking at him, he realized. It was a Black woman, with coily hair, eyes sharper than he’d ever seen on a mundane. She watched him like she knew what he was and it made him almost shiver. There was a smirk in her voice and in her eyes, and a hardness too. 

"Well, you look like you could use a drink," she said. Her tone was snarky. She was drying off a glass with a dishtowel. It was almost stereotypical. "And a towel," she added upon further inspection of him. He was indeed still a bit wet from the ocean. He also felt like he’d drunk half of the water in it. 

"Just, um," he struggled with words a little, exhaustion sinking in violently. "Just your phone?"

Jace looked away a little, and started walking towards where the bartender was standing, trying to look as innocent as possible. Even with the blood and wound on his face, and the rips in his sweater, he had to try. He could feel the pounding of the ache from the punch he’d taken right into the brow bone. 

"I’d ask what happened to yours, but I’m guessing it got wet?" Snark dripped from her words. Jace swallowed and shot her a look. She was still watching him intently. Mundanes rarely looked at him like that. Mundanes rarely looked at him period, since he was usually glamoured. 

"It’s a long story," he muttered, surveilling his surroundings, making sure there was no one in the bar that could recognize him. 

"Well, I’m stuck here all day," the woman continued as he walked slowly. "And besides, I hear  _ Shadowhunters _ love to hear themselves talk." The way she said Shadowhunters made him stop dead in his tracks and he looked at her again. 

He must have looked especially startled because she immediately went: "What, you didn’t think I would recognize those runes on the back of your neck?"

Jace swallowed. Was he really that recognizable? He sighed. And stopped for a second. If she knew about Shadowhunters, then she was a Downworlder. He stared at her, looking her over, trying to guess. She didn’t look like a Seelie, and Seelies rarely ever wore glamours. She didn’t look warlock-like either, and it was quite obvious that she was not a vampire. And there was this scar on her neck. Three scratches, like claws. 

"You’re a werewolf," he said, sighing a tiny bit in relief. Until it hit him again. The girl, with the silver hair. He swallowed. 

The woman nodded, making a small gesture that showed he was right. She reached down and started grabbing stuff behind the bar and his eyes narrowed. 

"Typically, the phone is for paying customers, but I’m feeling generous, so it’s on the house," she pointed out, putting a beer and the phone on the counter. Not a weapon then. Though both objects could become one very easily. The phone was thick and heavy-looking, and with enough force and speed, could be quite the blunt instrument. The glass could shatter. 

"Thank you..." he cleared his throat, and looked up at her, and she understood that he was asking for her name. 

"Maia," she replied. "It’s nice to meet you."

\-----------------------

Isabelle pushed the door of Clary’s bedroom open, and she found her there, busying herself doing absolutely nothing, something at which Isabelle specialized. Pretending to do something was an art that could help in spying for information. Isabelle had always been good at that kind of mission.

Clary looked up at her and said nothing. Isabelle didn’t focus on how pretty she looked with her hair in a ponytail that way, stray strands framing her face.

"You lied, didn’t you?" She asked, her voice a bit shakier than she hoped it would be. 

Clary stood and closed the door behind her. Isabelle grabbed her stele and drew a soundproofing rune on the wood. 

"I did," Clary replied. "I could never give Jace away, you know that. I couldn’t let Aldertree go after him like he did before. I’m not going to lose him again." 

Isabelle nodded. She understood. The bond that united Clary and Jace was newer than the one she shared with him, but it was still intense. Izzy didn’t really know what it felt like to suddenly find a family you didn’t have before, but it seemed enough to push Clary to lie, not only to Aldertree but to her own mother too. 

Clary had been told about her mother’s allegiance to the Circle by Magnus, but it seemed she had not expected her to be so brutal when it came to Jace. Clary had expected the mundane mother she remembered, and Izzy could see the wound created by the realization that Jocelyn Fairchild was not that woman. 

How did you manage realizing that your parents were not who they said they were? Isabelle was asking for herself. She hadn’t yet managed to process that her mother and father were in the Circle too. 

Not only in the Circle, but close enough that Maryse could call herself the right hand of Valentine, his most trusted recruiter. It made Izzy shiver, a little. 

"So Dot took down the wards and you two jumped off the ship together?" Izzy asked softly. 

Clary had the barest hint of a wince at that, as if there was something else that she was not telling. She had secrets this one, and she was not as good as she thought at hiding them. 

"Yeah, but as soon as we hit the water, the tide was so strong. We lost each other... I looked everywhere," Clary whispered. "When I hit the shore... I was on a beach, and I couldn’t find him. We must have been separated... it was..." She shivered. 

Isabelle swallowed. What Clary hid... she hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt them, but she still wasn’t going to insist too much. 

"The ship was worse," Clary added. "It was so much worse. It was full of people. Downworlders... Broken and terrified and in pain." She whispered. "And... and I left them behind." 

Clary sat down on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes closed, her lips were dry, cracked. She looked pale. She looked exhausted too, Isabelle realized. 

Izzy walked forward, sitting by her side on the bed. She took a deep breath. The door was closed. No one was going to know. She slid her hand slowly, over to Clary’s thigh, where her own rested. She slid it right under hers, fingers intertwining and taking hold of it. 

Clary looked up for barely a second. Her eyes were different. 

"Dot had this spell. She was... she made me see things. Things that I know aren’t true, but I can’t get them out of my head." Clary whispered. "Murders. Animals... Downworlders killing everyone, organized into packs and clans and squadrons and warlocks following High Warlocks." 

Izzy felt her heart stop beating for a second. 

She’d been raised with those thoughts. She’d been raised like every good little naphil, maybe even with more of those ideas that Downworlders would cause their death. 

She’d been raised by Maryse and Robert Lightwood, by Hodge Starkweather. Only one of the three bore the Circle rune, but now that she knew the truth... The way her parents had talked about Magnus Bane, as he came to fix their wards and consolidate their home should have been a sign. 

She still couldn’t think of werewolves correctly, and she didn’t know if she ever would. Werewolves were violent, in her mind. She knew it wasn’t true, and yet, when she walked towards the Jade Wolf, she couldn’t help but be uncomfortable. She was almost scared, if fear was an emotion she could really still feel. 

"It was a lie... a spell." 

"I know!" Clary replied. "I know but I can’t get it out of my head, all that death, all the pain..." 

Izzy swallowed. "Did she show it to Jace as well?" 

Clary shook her head. "No. It was only to me. It was a trick, a ploy to get me to convince him to work with Valentine... She knew I trusted her. He didn’t." 

Izzy nodded, looking at her. Everyone had betrayed her, it seemed. Her mother, Dot Rollins, her father, the Clave, in Aldertree’s persona. They had all betrayed her. 

"He’s going to be okay. We won’t let him get caught."

"For all we know Valentine and the Circle have already found him," Clary whispered. 

"We’re gonna find him," Izzy shook her head. "I won’t accept it any other way." 

Clary looked up at her, and nodded. She watched her with something in her eyes, something gentle, that made Izzy feel like she could be vulnerable, for once. Clary seemed to be waiting for her not to be entirely strong. 

Izzy licked her lips, shifting and looking down at their joined hands. Clary squeezed gently. 

"I can’t lose him," Isabelle whispered. "I... He’s my brother." 

Clary watched her still, and Izzy could feel the anxiety building. 

"If we lose him... I don’t know what I’ll do. What Alec will do. He’s part of our team. He’s part of our family." 

Izzy didn’t want to admit how jealous she felt. Of Clary. Clary was his sister. She was Jace’s blood, Jace’s family, in a way that she and Alec will never be. She would never be his little sister, she would never have their parents. Blood was too important to Shadowhunters to be ignored, no matter what people said. 

When she was younger, she’d hoped that Maryse and Robert adopted him officially, made him a real Lightwood. Then he would have been part of the family, if he wasn’t exactly of the right blood. 

Now, Jace’s Clave file showed 'Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern' and Izzy felt like he was slipping away from her. That he was becoming more of Clary’s. And it wasn’t fair. They barely even looked alike. 

Izzy stood up and looked at her. "Come on."

Clary took a deep breath and stood up as well. They opened the door again and walked out of the room.

"We need to find something of Jace’s," Clary said, as they walked through the corridors of the sleeping quarters. 

"Don’t bother," Izzy replied. "Aldertree already has people tracking him 24/7. Jace must be using a rune to block it, otherwise somebody would’ve found him by now."

She sighed. It was all... such a mess. Alec was gone too, Angel knew where. Maybe he was at Magnus’? That was the only thing Izzy could think about, and she didn’t really know how to react to that. 

Magnus and Alec spent more and more time together. Alec was finding in the warlock a companionship that he hadn’t had before. The kind Izzy used to have with Meliorn. It was hard to see Alec like this. 

Izzy was starting to feel a little lonely. And she hated the feeling of losing her family. It was stupid, Angel, so stupid and so deeply  _ selfish _ of her. Alec was happier than he’d been in so long, and she felt jealous. 

Her cellphone rang, and pulled her out of the whirlwind of angry and selfish thoughts. As she reached for it, she noticed her shoulder was back to aching. 

She didn’t know the number. She picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Izzy, it’s me."

She’d never felt this relieved to hear Jace’s voice. She sighed, looking at Clary and nodding, smiling a little. 

"Jace," she replied. "Are you okay?" She couldn’t help the smile that must have been transmitting through her words. 

Jace smiled as he heard it, the relief and joy in Izzy’s voice. He leaned against the window of the bar - The Hunter’s Moon, he’s learned - and watched the people walking by, trying to determine if they were a Circle member or a mundane cop coming after him. 

"I’m a little soggy, but I’ll live," he had a small chuckle before his mind came back to his main worry. "Look, is Clary-" 

He didn’t have time to finish, Izzy just interrupted him. "She’s here. She’s safe."

There was a bit of a noise and a new voice spoke to him. 

"Jace, it’s me," Clary reassured him. "I’m fine. Are you? Really?" 

Jace thought back to the strange light around Clary, to her supposed vision, to everything that had happened on Valentine’s ship. The demon blood that ran through his veins. He swallowed. 

"I’m okay. I... I’m gonna need a plan. I woke up next to-"

"The werewolf," Clary breathed. "Oh God." 

"Yeah. I’m afraid her murder will end up on me."

Clary nodded. "I’ll brief Izzy and Alec, and we’ll get you some place to stay. You sure can’t come back here, you’d end up directly in a cell." 

Jace almost shrugged. "At least I would be safe." 

"Last time, there was a search for you, you had a Dead or Alive warrant, Jace," Clary explained. "And I don’t believe that Aldertree really wants you protected, even if he promises it." 

"Accidents happen," Jace hummed. He’d never thought he’d end up with the Clave hunting him. He was the one doing the hunting, usually. 

Izzy grabbed the phone and muttered. "You should go to Magnus’. He’ll shelter you." 

"Okay," Jace muttered and hung up. How the hell was he going to get to Brooklyn and have no one realize what was going on? 

"All good?" The bartender - Maia - asked. 

He nodded, trying to keep himself as calm as possible while his mind was running over the different ways to get to Magnus’. "Yeah. Thank you."

She walked out from behind the bar, taking the phone back from his hand. "Didn’t seem good," she pointed out. Jace frowned. Why was she asking? Did she want him to explain what was going on in his life?

"It’s nothing you need to worry about," he replied. He did not want to start trouble here. 

She barely waited, and when she spoke, he understood exactly why she’d been wondering about how busy he was. 

"Good, 'cause we could use your help," Maia pointed out, crossing her arms, holding herself. Jace had seen this gesture before, in loved ones of Shadowhunters dead on the field, when they talked about the person they’d lost. "Shadowhunter help."

Maia had decided when she’d seen the runes on the back of the man’s neck that she would say a very kind fuck you to Luke and ask directly. His passivity when it came to this made her so angry. 

"You see Taito back there?" She tilted her head towards the very tall, very buff bald man. Someone that Jace immediately recognized. The man that had been with Gretel when they’d taken her. 

"The Circle took his niece. Right in front of him. So I was hoping maybe you could help him out..." There was more to this than just the niece of a friend, and that was something he was entirely sure of. 

He hated that he couldn’t help her. He hated that it was his fault. "I... I wish I could," he muttered, and looked away, taking a step back. 

"You have something better to do?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, and he could feel the annoyance and the anger. Fuck. This had been such a bad idea. 

"It’s not like that." 

"Then what’s it like?" Maia snapped. "Because my girlfriend has disappeared. And unless you have someone else to go save right now, I think you should do your job." 

_ Girlfriend _ . Fuck. He’d... He’d killed her. Not directly, but he’d definitely abducted her. "I’m sorry." 

The woman was almost growling now, and he could feel the anger from where he was standing. 

"You need to do your job, Shadowhunter. You’re supposed to protect us."

For once, Maia had let herself believe that one of the nephilim would help them. Usually, she steered clear of them, and didn’t once think that they had the Downworld’s best interest at heart. Gretel had thought that too. 

"I just - I just need to go." The blonde man mumbled. She still didn’t know his name, but she didn’t really care to know it right now. 

Taito had stood up while they talked. As the Shadowhunter tried to walk away, he planted himself in the middle of his path and stopped him. Maia raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I think he is the one that needs protecting," Taito said. Maia saw the Shadowhunter’s shoulder tense. "This is the guy who kidnapped Gretel."

A jolt of anger and hatred ran through Maia’s body. She had been ready to trust that Shadowhunter to help her find Gretel’s murderer, and he was the one responsible for it?  She growled. She could feel her eyes changing color as the werewolf inside of her awakened. She could feel the power in her body as the man in front of her mumbled. 

"Look, I don’t wanna hurt anyone, okay?" 

She had a little bit of a chuckle. "Well, we believe in justice, Shadowhunter. So I guess you’re the one that will pay for her blood." 

\-------------

Magnus had to admit, he wasn’t used to this particular exercise anymore. 

Not the kissing part, of course not, but the general situation was unusual. Receiving someone in his home, for some time together, at the very burgeoning of their relationship wasn’t something he did often. He hadn’t done it in almost a century, if he was being honest with himself. 

He wasn’t complaining. It gave them both some much needed time alone, and Alec was not a bad kisser, for someone that had so little experience. And even if he was, he definitely seemed like he wanted to put in the work to get better at it. 

It had been surprising to see him at the door of his apartment, when there was so much going on at the Institute. Maybe that was just what he needed, a good make-out session. Though Magnus did not remember a time where it had been really helpful to solve a problem he’d been in. 

It was almost awkward. Their bodies were tilted a bit strangely on the couch, as they sat facing each other, one foot on the ground and the other bent a little, resting on the couch in between them. It felt like some sort of teenage movie. Magnus hadn’t been a teenager in centuries. 

Saying that Alec made him feel young was creepy, and it wasn’t exactly the truth either. He just made him feel… different. In a way that Magnus couldn’t pinpoint yet. More experiments would be needed. Magnus felt like Alec would not complain about that. 

Alec pulled back for a moment to take a deep breath and start kissing him again right after, but Magnus gently stopped him. He opened his eyes slowly, watching as Alec’s face showed confusion. 

“Is something wrong?” Alec immediately asked. 

Magnus couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He was so eager to do right. It was adorable. And endearing. Magnus shook his head. 

“No, it’s great,” Magnus reassured him, keeping his hand on Alec’s chest and gently rubbing a little circle with it. “You’re great.” 

Under his fingers, Alec relaxed sensibly. Magnus looked at him with a smile, observing him, trying to take in everything that he was seeing in front of him. Alec was young and beautiful, and very Nephili. There was a lot of harshness to his face and body, a lot of the armor of strength Magnus was used to seeing on Shadowhunters. 

Only the soft curve of a little smile and the still hungry look in his eyes came to break the facade. Magnus decided he liked that face a lot, even in its harshness. Even if he pretended it was, there was no actual conscious judgement and decision. 

Magnus was opening his mouth to speak again when the serenity of the moment was broken by a loud ringtone. Alec’s phone was ringing and vibrating against the coffee table and Alec sighed loudly. 

“Hopefully it will be good news about your brother?” Magnus said, at how annoyed Alec seemed to be. 

Alec nodded and picked up the call. “Lightwood.” 

From where he was sitting, Magnus could hear that it was Isabelle’s voice, but he couldn’t hear the exact words. He could make out what it was about though. Something about Jace, and finding him. 

“That’s great. Where is he now?” Alec asked. So they had had news from the other man. 

There was more chatter and Alec thanked her, smiling. He put his phone down and turned back to him. 

Magnus raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Alec smiled at him, leaning a little against the couch. “Jace is alive. He’s okay. He’s running though, they think he murdered a werewolf,” he explained. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.” 

“That’s g-” Magnus stopped mid-sentence, frowning. “Here?” As in, in this apartment? Since when was the loft an official Nephili asylum? 

“Yeah. Izzy told him to come here so he’d have somewhere to lay low until she can get Aldertree to stand down.” 

Alec didn’t seem to be even slightly bothered by that. Magnus swallowed and closed his eyes for a second. He needed to stay calm. God knew what Alec would start thinking if Magnus got angry too loudly for something he considered alright. 

Magnus took a deep breath, pried his jaw open and started talking, as calmly as he physically could. “And maybe you wanted to ask for my permission for him to ‘lay low’ in my home?” 

Alec frowned a little. “I… I mean, it wouldn’t be for a long time or anything, and he’s my brother.” 

“I very well know that he’s your brother, Alexander,” Magnus replied, keeping a firm grip on his voice and emotions, so firm that he could hear the tightness and coldness in his tone. “But that doesn’t give you, or your sister, for that matter, the right to tell him to come here, without asking me first.” 

“He’s on the run, Magnus. Don’t you give asylum to people all the time? I remember that you were doing that when we met. With dozens of people. Jace won’t be a bother.” 

Magnus ground his teeth. “Me deciding to open my home to the people I am in charge of protecting, my people, and you telling your Nephili brother he can come to my apartment without even caring what I have to say about it are not the same things.” 

Alec’s face closed and he stood up. "I don’t understand you. You’re all for helping and then suddenly you’re not?"

Magnus sighed deeply and turned around, looking at him. He didn’t know what to say. He knew he was mad, that he felt just a tiny bit betrayed. 

"I’m just asking you to ask for my permission."

Alec huffed. "Fine. Can he come?" 

Magnus nodded. "Yes, Jace can come." 

"Then why did you make a scene out of this?" Alec huffed again, looking away, grabbing his jacket. He was running away. The calm, the bubble of awkward kisses and teenage-flavored intimacy was broken. Magnus couldn’t even feel the remains of it.

"It’s a question of principles, Alec." 

Alec shook his head, starting to walk towards the door. "Are you coming?" He asked.

Magnus stood up in turn and looked at the other man. All harsh and cold. The shadow of the power of the Clave that he held was stretching over the floor again. "I don’t think you understand me." 

Alec sighed. "Honestly? I don’t. But Izzy told us to go to the Institute so we’ll have to continue this later." 

\-------------

Lydia had spent the last few days watching. It was all she seemed to be able to do, anyway. Aldertree kept her on a short leash, and with a muzzle, and Angel, it was infuriating. All she could do was obey, and watch. 

She watched Victor Aldertree and Jocelyn Fairchild, observed them, together or not. She gathered all the information she could. There was no real report for her to write, no real purpose to the intel she was getting. It was always useful though. 

Jocelyn Fairchild had slipped into the Institute routine with too much ease. Lydia deeply disliked it. She deeply disliked  _ her _ . The woman was too nice. That always hid something, in Lydia’s experience. 

She was reviewing some paperwork at her desk, when Aldertree walked by her. Lydia barely looked up at first, when it was just him walking alone. 

His phone rang, and she raised an eyebrow. She looked up from her screen. From what she could see, the caller ID said 'Inq. office'. 

"Aldertree," he announced himself. That was all Lydia could hear. His face changed quickly, and she was unable to really see what he was feeling. She was bad with feelings. And people. She’d always been. John’s love had been an anomaly. The rest of her peers had always seen her as... cold. Lydia stood as he ended his call and looked at her. 

Aldertree looked up at her for half a second. "Get Jocelyn Fairchild, Clarissa Morgenstern and call Lucian Graymark. I also need a field team ready for possible werewolf unruliness, depending on what Lucian Graymark tells me about his pack." He ordered. 

She wanted to scream. She hated the way he talked to her. She wished he could just go back to where he’d come from, leave her alone to do her goddamn job. It had driven her insane when he’d replaced her after less than a month on the job. How was she supposed to turn around an Institute like the New York Institute in ten days? 

Lydia nodded and moved back. If she spoke right now, she was going to get herself into serious trouble for questioning authority and being insolent to a superior. Not only was that a stain she did not want on her records, but… there was something almost upsetting about standing up like  _ that  _ to a superior officer. 

So Lydia bit her lip and moved back to her desk, forcing herself not to show how the anger was boiling inside of her. She picked up a pencil for a moment, but realized that she was going to break it if she kept holding it the way she did now, tightly. She directed her attention back to the orders, and to the phone call.

Something was up with the werewolves. Something bad. She walked towards the screen and added a mission order for Field Team Beta. The Alpha team was composed of Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, as well as Jace Morgenstern and as of late, a trainee, Clary Morgenstern. It was obviously non-operational that day. 

She grabbed her own phone and called Luke Garroway. 

"Luke, it’s Lydia Branwell. Victor Aldertree requests your presence in the Institute," she explained. She didn’t personally agree with Aldertree’s methods, but she had to admit they seemed efficient in some ways. He was just too.. Slippery for her taste. Too manipulative. Her own style was a bit more blunt. 

"I can’t right now. I have a murder on my hands, and both the pack and the mundanes are involved." Garroway didn’t seem like he was thinking much before replying. He did not respect the authority of the Clave as much as he should. Lydia ground her teeth a little. 

She could put the lack of cooperation on the fact that he was a werewolf, and werewolves tended to be the worst to deal with. They passed as humans way more easily than a vampire, warlock or Seelie could, and it made the Clave’s mission more complex. And they were generally more… prone to use teeth and claws. 

The coincidence was just too good to be true though. Garroway hadn’t been this annoying to deal with before. He usually worked with the Institute easily. It seemed obvious that was probably what Aldertree had been warned about. 

"Well, the Clave is involved as well," Lydia replied, keeping her voice low. "I’ve been ordered to have a field team ready to descend on the Jade Wolf if there is no cooperation from the Pack."

There was a loud sigh from the other side of the call and Luke replied. "There will be more than that when they learn Jace is presumed to be the murderer." 

Lydia bit her lip. "You shouldn’t have told me. I’m required to warn Aldertree." 

"You’re not. Not unless he asks you. Please, give us a chance, Branwell." 

“Why would I trust you, werewolf?” She replied. She hadn’t really meant to be this aggressive, but the recent stress put on her and the constant simmering of anger was just pushing her past the limits of diplomacy. Who cared anyway? It wasn’t like one werewolf coming to say she’d been mean on the phone would cause her any trouble.

“Because we’re on the same side.” 

“I side with the Clave. Always,” her voice was firm. She would never doubt that part of her life. She sided with the Clave, always and forever. “You did too, once. Now you’re a Downworlder, and it’s obvious it has changed you.” 

“This is not about me, Branwell. We need more time. I hate Aldertree as much as you do.”

Did he? Lydia almost scoffed. There was no way he hated Aldertree the way she hated him. He’d taken her reputation and torn it apart, and taken her job, the one thing she was proud of. What had he done to Garroway? Been a little mean to him?

She bid her goodbyes, not letting him know whether she was going to turn Jace in or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	6. Lover Lost Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I COMPLETELY forgot to post this yesterday, I'm so sorry, I feel bad xD
> 
> Here it is with one day late!
> 
> Lover Lost Part 2, the second part of the Parabatai Lost episode....

Night was falling and Simon could finally go outside, and go find his mom. 

The surroundings of the boathouse were a bit anxiety-inducing at night, full of creaking wooden things and possible angry werewolves. He hadn’t seen Gretel around in a while, he thought, maybe she was done with taunting him? He didn’t know. 

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, starting to walk towards the subway station. He still took the subway, obviously. Running around everywhere at vampire speed killed his shoes faster than before, and he did not have the cash for that right now. 

"Hey, Mom. Just got your messages," he kept his voice cheerful, even if he was worrying. "Just wanted to let you know I’m not dead, so, uh, don’t call the police." 

At least he hadn’t stayed dead. He was still unsure about the exact state of his life right now. Maybe Raphael could help him? Or not. He didn’t really feel like asking Raphael. Luke wouldn’t know, he was almost certain. Luke didn’t seem to even like vampires. 

"Um I know you’re upset that we haven’t talked in a while, so I was thinking of stopping by the house. Hopefully you’re home." There was no real reason why she wouldn’t be. It wasn’t a Friday night, so she wasn’t at a Shabbat dinner. Wednesday nights weren’t really the nights where she went out with her friends either. 

Now that he thought about it, his mom and Jocelyn hadn’t really hung out. They’d never really been friends, Simon and Clary had been a bit blinded by their own intense friendship. 

Simon was deep in his reflection when, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a silhouette moving at vampire speed. He swallowed.

"That’s it. Bye." He hung up immediately. 

There was no other noise, or other sight of someone running, but Simon knew that he hadn’t imagined it. His heightened senses told him that he wasn’t alone. He turned around. 

In front of him stood Raphael. His face was closed, his eyes were cold, and he seemed pissed off. He wasn’t wrong to be pissed, Simon hadn’t exactly updated him on the state of the search for Camille after India but... He had a life. A life outside of the clan, and he wanted to live it. 

"Going home?" Raphael asked, taking a step forward. Simon swallowed and took a step back.

"Just a detour," he started. Raphael kept moving forward, and he started moving back as well. He mumbled, explaining what was going on. "My mom’s called me, like, 30 times. I just have to tell her that my band went on tour, and I’ll be right back on Camille," he promised. "You know, if you spent the amount of time looking for Camille that you spend telling me to look for her, you’d probably have found her by now."

Raphael seemed to wince and Simon suddenly thought that snark might not have been the best option for this. Raphael was much older. Who knew what kind of powers older vampires had. Maybe he would kill him with a snap of fingers, if he wanted. 

Simon kept walking backwards until his back hit a metal fence. He hadn’t really noticed this one. Now Raphael was cornering him. Fuck. He really needed to train his vampire spidey-sense.

"I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation," Raphael said, very calmly. He had a way of speaking, he pronounced all words very clearly, and it gave him an even more powerful and dangerous air. Simon couldn’t explain it, but it was like a movie villain, elegant and sophisticated and pronouncing words with a chilling precision. 

"I’ve got the whole clan searching, but she’s your sire," Raphael continued. His words, the way he kept moving forward, backing Simon against the fence, pointing, denoted a clear sense of panic. 

Simon frowned. That was a little strange. He was certain he wasn’t the only one. Camille hadn’t even seemed to think twice about siring him, when it seemed like a big deal to many others. She would be the kind to have vampires changed by her all over the world, everywhere she stopped for a few weeks. 

"But there are others, right? I can’t be the most qualified vampire Camille’s turned."

Raphael huffed. "You’re far from that, but sadly, you’re the only one left," he explained. "All the other vampires she sired have joined her side. There’s a civil war brewing, and Camille is gaining power."

Simon sighed in relief. At least they were not all dead. Then, the words finally made sense to him. A vampire civil war? In New York? There were a lot of vampires in New York. He’d thought that she would have ran far away after failing to get the Writ of Transmutation from him, but maybe she was still there, getting ready to take her clan back. 

It wasn’t just Aldertree that was putting pressure on Raphael, he realized. The other vampires were as well. 

Slowly, Simon’s position in the Shadow World came into clearer focus. Clary was his best friend. Luke was a father figure to him. He was a vampire, sired by Camille, belonging to Raphael’s clan. He was right in the middle of all of it. He didn’t know if he enjoyed that position.

"I understand," Simon looked at him. "I need to deal with my family first. And then, right on Camille." 

He tried walking away but Raphael grabbed him and kept him against the fence, looking deeply into his eyes. For once, Simon saw something other than coldness there. 

"We are your family now," Raphael said. 

He’d said that before. It had been some of the first words they had exchanged after Simon had woken up in the cemetery. Simon wasn’t ready to accept that, not yet. 

"And what? Just supposed to forget my mom?" He snapped, looking at the other vampire. 

"Your mom?" A shadow crossed in the eyes of Raphael. Simon swallowed at the suddenness of the emotion on the other’s face. "Your mom will grow old while you stay the same. And eventually she’ll be gone." His words were harsh and Simon hated to hear them. They echoed some thoughts that had been running through his mind over and over for the past weeks. "Sooner or later, even your memories of her will fade, whether you want them to or not."

The idea of forgetting his mom was violent. It hit Simon, the image of going through life not thinking about her, not worrying about her. He wondered what it was like for Raphael. The words he’d said rung true from the man’s own experience. Would he become as cold and terrifying as Raphael? 

"No. That won’t happen. Not to me." It was a promise, both to himself and to his mom. A promise to Bubbe Helen and to Rebecca as well, and to the last threads of memories he had of his father. He wouldn’t forget his mom, his family. He wouldn’t forget his identity.

Raphael smirked, but it was a smirk filled with ice and pain, the smirk of someone who’d lived through a lot of hardship. Simon didn’t really want to think about what Raphael must have been through.

"Keep telling yourself that." Raphael said. He exchanged another look with him and walked away, disappearing into the night. 

Simon would have expected him to stay for longer. He guessed he had better things to do than talk about lost memories and forgotten family with him. He swallowed. 

He started walking again, then running. He didn’t think about the state of his shoes. He wanted to be home again, to be with his mother. 

He unlocked the door and stepped into the house, minutes after leaving the docks. He guessed that she wouldn’t check how long he’d taken between the voicemail and his arrival. 

The house seemed empty. It wasn’t very late, she should have been here. Rebecca was probably at her dorm.

"Mom?" He called out, stepping into the corridor. On the walls, pictures of his old self, young and happy, carefree, looked back at him, taunting him. 

He stepped deeper into the house and walked up the stairs. Maybe she’d had a long day, and she’d gone to sleep exhausted. It wasn’t uncommon. She was busy as a lawyer, and some cases just took too much out of her. 

He knocked lightly on the door of her bedroom. "Anybody home?"

There was no answer. He opened the door and pushed it open. Lights were on, and the television as well. The news was playing. It was one of those broadcasts from the 24/7 news channels. Elaine usually hated those, saying they only brought more anxiety with their useless repeating of words. The last time she’d looked at those channels had been during the latest hurricane in Florida, where Simon’s grandma, her mother, lived. 

Simon swallowed. He stopped watching the tv for a second and looked around the room. Clothes had been thrown haphazardly on the bed, but that wasn’t THAT unusual. 

What was unusual though, was the bottle of vodka on the drawer. Elaine was a recovering alcoholic. Everything that was maybe still moving inside of Simon froze. 

"Oh, no."

She was drinking again.

\--------------------------------------

The Institute buzzed with energy and work, but Clary didn’t feel comfortable in it. Izzy had once told her that she enjoyed when everyone focused on tasks and when everyone was doing something, going on hunts and working hard, but Clary only saw that as a sign that another battle was brewing. 

She hadn’t known the Institute to be a place where energy meant good things for her or her family. Right now, everyone was gearing up to get to Jace and take him away from her, and she couldn’t stand that. 

It was strange to know that she had a brother, especially when having a brother did not mean having someone who understood your life. Jace hadn’t been raised the way she had, and they didn’t share much, only genetics. 

Shadowhunters seemed to care deeply about genetics and blood lines, but Clary wasn’t sure if that was what family really meant to her. For sure it was comforting for Valentine to be Jace’s father, too. She didn’t feel as alone in the Clave’s eye of scrutiny. 

Alec and Magnus had portalled in earlier, something a bit strange and tense between them, but Clary hadn’t wanted to ask anything. She didn’t want to deal with anything else than Jace right now. She guessed Alec and Izzy were in the same situation. 

Magnus leaned against the table they stood around. He was avoiding really looking at anyone, his face looked slightly annoyed. 

"So, once Jace is all safe and sound in my apartment, what’s your plan?" He asked, sarcasm light but present in his voice. 

Clary shot him a slightly confused look. He seemed deeply unhappy about this, and something told her that it was linked to the tension between Alec and him. 

"Aldertree has people everywhere," Izzy started. "So we won’t be able to do anything within this Institute." 

Magnus huffed. "What would you even want to do within this Institute? Lead a rebellion?" He looked at the three others around him. "It takes more to lead people into rebellion than telling them that the current leader is wrong. They all believe that following orders is the best option. The Clave brings up its soldiers with the mindset that obedience is the only right way." 

Izzy and Alec shifted next to Clary, obviously uncomfortable. 

Magnus kept going. "You will not be able to lead a rebellion of the New York Institute by pointing a finger."

Alec swallowed. "Then enlighten us," he mumbled. "What should we do, oh, wise Magnus Bane?" 

Magnus rolled his eyes but looked down. "The Clave works with a strict hierarchy. Aldertree may be at the top of this Institute’s hierarchy, but he’s not on the top of the Clave hierarchy." 

"You’re suggesting we go over his head?" Izzy asked, a bit incredulous. She didn’t seem to have thought about it. As if the very idea of disrespecting the chain of command was unthinkable for them. 

Magnus nodded. "From what I know, you have the Head of the United States Institutes above Aldertree. Then the Head of the PanAmerican Institutes. And then, the Inquisitor." 

"There’s a couple of ranks between Head of Continental Institutes and Inquisitor, but that would work," Izzy pointed out. 

"We don’t have Imogen Herondale on our side," Alec replied. "And we risk some serious trouble for going over Aldertree’s head." 

Magnus raised an eyebrow. "You seemed like you were willing to do absolutely everything to ensure Jace’s safety, earlier. Has it changed now that you would have personal consequences?" 

Clary opened her mouth to try and calm down the wave of annoyance that was threatening to crash when her phone started ringing. She swallowed. "Sorry, I gotta..." She mumbled. Izzy nodded at her to take the call. Alec and Magnus were staring at each other. 

She took a few steps back and took the phone out of her pocket. Simon’s smiling mundane face was showing on the screen. She sighed a little and took the call. 

"Hey, Simon," she said. 

Simon’s voice immediately came to her. "Clary, my mom’s missing. She’s drinking again." He was talking fast, the same fast pace that told her he was under immense stress. And his words explained exactly why. Elaine had had a long struggle with alcohol. 

"Oh no."

Simon continued. "It’s all my fault." Before Clary could stop him from blaming himself, he started explaining. "She’s been sober ever since that bender she went on after Dad died, but I found a bottle of vodka in her bedroom, and there hadn’t been alcohol in the house for years. Clary, if anything happened to her because of me, I -"

Clary interrupted him. "Simon, slow down." She understood his concern. Simon and Rebecca had seen how difficult it had been for their mother after Binyamin Lewis’ death. She remembered how Simon slept a lot at theirs, and that Elaine never really seemed to be there. She seemed to be drowned out by the grief. 

"How long has your mom been gone?" She asked. 

Simon sighed a little and hesitated. "I don’t know. I tried calling, but she won’t pick up. I don’t know where she is. Clary, I need your help."

Clary had told herself she didn’t want to deal with anything that wasn’t Jace. But this was Simon. She’d already let Simon down so many times. She’d pushed him into the situation he was in now because of her own selfish desire to constantly have him by her side. She’d ignored him when he thought he was dying, going through the fledgling transition. The least she could do was help him. 

"Hang on," she whispered. 

She moved back to the table, where Izzy, Alec and Magnus were advancing on their plan to contact one of Aldertree’s superiors and get them to put pressure on him. Alec and Magnus still seemed to be exchanging snide comments, but at least it wasn’t impeding the planning session. 

"Guys, I have to go. Simon needs me," she said. 

They turned to look at her. They exchanged a few looks before Izzy turned back to her and nodded. 

"Be there for your friend. Magnus, Alec and I have everything under control." 

Clary believed that. She also believed that they would be more successful without a barely trained Shadowhunter like her. 

"Thanks," Clary smiled a little and brought her phone to her ear again. "I’m on my way," she indicated. "I’ll meet you at your mom’s and we’ll go from there. Grab something of hers. Something important to her." 

Maybe she was barely trained but she knew how to do one thing. Track. She would use it to help her friend. 

"I got just the thing," Simon replied. She hung up. 

Clary went to grab her seraph blade and her stele, then walked to the main entrance. She opened the door and walked into the Manhattan night. 

\----------------------------------------

Luke walked into the Hunter’s Moon. Maia was cleaning up, grabbing shards of glass from the floor with bare hands, sweeping the debris of a fight, and Luke instantly knew what had happened. 

He understood what she was going through, he truly did. He’d lost Jocelyn and gotten her back not long ago. He knew grief was an overpowering force, a hurricane that pushed you to do things and use coping mechanisms that you regretted afterwards. 

He didn’t want Maia to regret. And he didn’t want Maia to get in trouble with the Clave for attacking a Shadowhunter. That kind of transgression could get a werewolf in very dangerous waters. 

Maia’s eyes were dark and unreadable when he walked towards her. She had little cuts on her finger tips from grabbing shards carelessly. Luke sighed and shifted the suspect profile towards her. 

"Looks familiar?" Luke asked. 

She almost shrugged. Her fingers left little red smears on the white sheet of paper. "That’s the guy. Should have never let him get away." Her voice held an anger that Luke had rarely heard in Maia. 

He’d seen her in many ways, happy and sad, traumatized too. He’d rescued her from herself too many times, and now she was angry, and in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Taito stood by his side, and he nodded at the drawing. He’d been the one to do most of the beating up. "After what he did to Gretel, I vote we return the favor."

Maia nodded at that, her hands drawing into fists and Luke shook his head. "No," he replied. "This is not a democracy. Nobody kills anybody until I say so." He kept his voice firm and strong, letting the Alpha power radiate through his body. 

He had yet to entirely master it, it was all so new to him. He still didn’t know the exact thing that gave him power. Was it a magical change in his nature, or was it the respect that his pack gave him? Could they strip him off his power by simply disobeying? 

"Oh, he can, but we can’t?" Maia hissed, staring up at him. She was somewhat challenging him. Luke did not want this to end in a fight. He did not want to have to placate her in the physical way he assumed Alphas usually used to keep their packs in order. 

"That’s not what I said," he pointed out, shooting her an unhappy glance. 

"He kidnapped her. What more evidence do you need?" She replied. She had a point, but Luke knew better. And he also knew that the Clave was already planning to come down on the pack, if they dared to move one ear.

"I was there," Taito confirmed. 

"And the witness found him standing over the body in the morning," Maia added. Luke felt bad for hiding that information from her until now. But with the reaction she’d had and the blood that was drying on the counter, maybe it had been for the best.  "I mean, you’re the detective," she kept going, her tone full of accusation and anger. "Isn’t that what you call an open-and-shut case?"

"No, it’s not. Jace is too smart to leave a body laying around."

Taito almost growled at that, glaring at him. "Whose side are you on?"

Luke knew that was going to be a problem. "I’m on the side of the law."

"Whose law?"

There it was. The question Luke knew he would have to face soon enough. It was far from a secret that he’d been a Shadowhunter once. It had caused great trouble when the previous Alpha had taken him into the pack. They’d accused him of spying for Valentine, for the Clave. They’d pushed him away. 

Luke had accepted it. He still did. They were right to doubt him. He’d grown up in the Clave and he’d believed their ideology. He’d taken to the Circle, not only because of Valentine, Jocelyn and Maryse, but also because he’d believed in it, at first at least. 

"I’m your Alpha," he replied. "I have the Pack’s best interest at heart, and right now, we need to lay low. The Clave is already scrutinizing the Downworld. We do not need more attention." 

He felt bad for hiding the exact threat on the pack from them, but he needed to keep everyone calm. He needed everyone to act as if nothing was wrong, if they were to pass the Clave’s test. Aldertree would not hesitate to pounce on the occasion, whether they were going after people, or hiding away. Anything out of the ordinary was a reason for a Shadowhunter raid. 

"I know the rules," Luke assured. "Blood for blood. If Jace is really doing Valentine’s dirty work, I’ll kill him myself."

\--------------------------

Alec wasn’t listening to him. No one was listening to him. Magnus felt like he was talking in the void, trying to get his point across and having Izzy and Alec completely disregard him, ignore him or worse: dismiss his words as a mere overreaction. There were few things Magnus hated more than to be infantilized. 

Magnus walked through the corridors of the Institute. He didn’t exactly know where he was going but he needed some moments out of the war room. 

He knew he shouldn’t have expected Alec to change suddenly, change so much that all of his previous life would be forgotten, erased and without consequences on his present self. Culture left traces. Upbringing left traces. Magnus knew that no one was free of their past, of the people they had grown up around. 

Everyone, no matter the blood, walked with their past shaping their life. It wasn’t an inherently bad thing. Of course Magnus wouldn’t call his past and the people that had hurt him good things. They were part of him. He wished they weren’t, but they were and he lived with that knowledge. 

He’d tried running away from it, but he’d failed. Then, only then, had he realized that he couldn’t erase what had been done to him and what he’d done to others. He’d built the person he was now on the foundations of that. Despite ugly foundations, he’d risen up higher and more beautiful than he’d ever thought possible. 

Alec’s change would come with time. They’d met a month ago. Their relationship was new. Alec didn’t know what he was doing, what he was saying. Nephili courtship was different than warlock or mundane ones.

_ Stop making excuses for him.  _

The voice came into his mind, bearing Ragnor’s particular accent. British, mated with French. Funny how Magnus’ mind was producing Ragnor’s voice when he needed to be reminded of things.

He couldn’t help but make excuses. He had to believe it was just young propaganda, the words and actions of a young man whose world view had been forged by people who wished to oppress Magnus’ people. 

Magnus had hope in young people, like Alec. He had to have some. Else, the world would be doomed. 

Magnus took a deep breath and turned around, starting to walk back towards the ops room again. He was calmer now. He needed to keep his cool. Especially when he was at the Institute. 

Hurried footsteps resounded behind him and someone came around the corner. 

"Magnus.”

Magnus almost made an audible sound of annoyance. He turned around. 

“Jocelyn,” he replied, voice tight. The last time he’d seen her really was when he’d woken her up. From what he’d heard, she’d just started causing more trouble from then on. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need you to portal me to the Jade Wolf,” Jocelyn said. 

_ Need.  _ Magnus could feel his anger growing again. This time, it was Jocelyn. Over 40, partner to a werewolf, so-called champion to the Downworlders, Jocelyn. 

“I need to talk to the pack. Keep them from going after Jace." 

Magnus had a small sarcastic chuckle. “Oh you need to talk to the Pack,” he hummed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you meddle in affairs that do not concern you.” 

Jocelyn opened her mouth and stared at him. She looked almost offended. Boohoo poor Shadowhunter. “Magnus, you don’t under-“

"Do you remember the first thing I said to you when you brought a frightened six-year-old girl to my door?" Magnus asked, glaring at her and keeping his iciest voice.

"What does that have to do with this?" Jocelyn asked, crossing her arms. 

"Answer." 

She reluctantly nodded and swallowed. "You didn’t want to get involved in Shadowhunter business."

Magnus nodded. "And I should’ve stuck to my guns." She’d begged and begged and offered enough money to send him into retirement for a couple of centuries. She’d told him that the fate of the Downworld rested on the fact that Valentine couldn’t get to Clary or her. "But no, I let you convince me. How many years of memory wipes was it?" 

"Twelve," Jocelyn said, softly, and she almost looked remorseful. "Look, I owe you. Let me help with Jace."

Magnus sighed. Had she listened to nothing he’d said? 

"I think you’ve done enough," Magnus pointed out. "Don’t get involved in Pack politics because you think you have a right to have a say in them."

The light offended look came back on Jocelyn’s face. Magnus didn’t even feel slightly sorry. He was tired of Shadowhunters thinking they knew what went on behind Shadow Kinds’ closed doors. He was tired of them thinking that they had a say in their politics. 

The Shadow Kinds were much more complicated than the Shadowhunters really cared to know. There were power dynamics and power hierarchies within organizations that they had no knowledge about. Magnus doubted they’d ever heard of the Small Council and the Watcher in the Vatican. It was better that way, he believed.

"I just want to he-" 

He cut her off immediately. "You are only trying to do what you always do. Manipulate people into helping fix problems that you created. And now they are all paying the price for it."

Jocelyn opened her mouth and closed it. She looked like a fish out of water. Magnus almost found it funny. 

"That- That’s not true," she mumbled, but there was no use in trying to defend herself anymore. They both knew that Magnus had the upper hand in this.

"Then prove me wrong," Magnus said firmly. "For once in your life, don’t go and meddle with things that are out of your expertise. The Pack doesn’t need you to take care of their problems for them." 

"Jace is my son, Magnus." 

Magnus huffed. "You had your daughter’s memory wiped over and over again for twelve years. Since when is blood relation something that stops you from hurting someone?" 

Magnus looked at her and she shook her head. He didn’t let her continue the conversation. He needed to go back to the main room. He walked away from her. 

Alec seemed to have disappeared from the ops room when he came back, but Izzy remained, looking over something on one of the tablets. 

Magnus decided that that wasn’t a bad thing. He had a thing or two to tell her. He walked towards her, and stopped by her side. She looked up for a moment, smiled a little in acknowledgement and went back to her work. 

"May I talk to you about something, Isabelle?" Magnus asked. His voice stayed firm, even if he was trying not to entirely spook her. 

"Of course," she replied, and put down what she was doing. She turned towards him and smiled. "What is it?" 

She looked a lot like her brother, he noticed. It made sense really, they had the same parents, but Magnus guessed he’d never really looked before. Her eyes were darker, her skin a couple of shades darker as well, but she looked a lot like Alec. Just somewhat smaller, more feminine. 

"It’s about Jace." 

"Do you know something?" She asked immediately, a glimmer of something akin to hope on her face. 

"No, it’s more about what you told him. That he needed to go to my place." 

Isabelle nodded. "He’ll be safe there. I trust you with taking care of him." 

Magnus sighed. "That’s very... grand of you, Isabelle," he said, voice tighter than he’d expected. "How did you know I would be alright with taking him in?" 

Isabelle opened her mouth for a moment and hesitated a little. "You... You always take in people. And Alec is regularly there. I assumed that he’d be safe at yours." 

"Of course he’s going to be safe at mine, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have asked permission first." 

She inched back a little, barely, but enough that Magnus noticed it and the shift in her expression. She crossed her arms. She was defensive. 

"He was calling from someone else’s phone. We didn’t know when he would have a way to be reached again. I made the decision I needed to make to keep my brother safe." 

Magnus nodded. "I understand that maybe asking for Clary to call me while he was on the phone with you, or sending him a fire message after calling me seemed to be a little too much for you. I understand you didn’t think about it."

"What do you want me to do?" Isabelle asked. She was a bit defensive still, but she seemed to get what he was saying. Or at least he hoped. 

"My home is not at your disposal, or at the Clave’s disposal. My home is mine. I want you to acknowledge that and apologize, and not do it again. Not assume that you get to commandeer my home and resources because you have the authority of the Clave behind you." 

Izzy just looked more and more uncomfortable. Magnus got why. Being made to realize that you were wrong was never pleasant. Especially when you were like Izzy, who prided herself on not being as prejudiced as the rest of the Shadowhunters. 

She swallowed and looked away from him. Magnus didn’t move. He watched her look around, look everywhere but at him before she finally settled on his face. 

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I didn’t think it would be a problem. You always seem so willing to have everyone around."

Magnus sighed softly. "The people I have around are the people that I invite on my own terms. Not anyone else’s. And certainly not a Shadowhunter’s." 

Izzy nodded. "I understand. I’m sorry, Magnus. I really am." She whispered. 

Magnus had a small smile. "You’ll do better next time. Keep on the learning curve and all will be alright." 

She leaned against the table slightly and nodded. "I have a lot more to learn than I expected." 

"Complacency is the enemy of progress, Isabelle. I know you thought you had all of your prejudices figured out, but it’s alright to still be on the learning path. As long as you are moving forward." 

Izzy nodded. She fell silent. Magnus looked down and noticed, for the first time, that one of her hands was shaking, with tremors that were familiar to him. 

\--------------

Jocelyn slipped into the weapons’ master room. They had yet to name anyone to take over the post since Hodge had been arrested and sent to the Guard, and it was providing the perfect opportunity for her. 

Magnus Bane was wrong about her, and he was wrong about her role in this whole story. She needed to get to Jonathan, she needed to go and keep the wolves from hurting him. It was her duty as a Shadowhunter, and as a mother. 

If anyone was to hurt Jonathan, it would be her. She was the one who had given life to him. She was the one who would get to take his life back. 

She unlocked the weapons’ closets and the stele drawers. The codes to open them were still the same as the last time she’d been in this room.

All she needed was a stele and a seraph blade, but she guessed getting a crossbow or another weapon would be nice. 

She started opening the drawers. The topmost one held steles. It was simple, all the tools organized neatly in little individual spaces. A few were empty. 

She grabbed the first stele she found, decorated with some stylized flames. A Lightwood stele. She almost huffed. Maybe it was one of Maryse’s. She moved on to the other drawers.

Next was the one with seraph blades. She grabbed one of the seraph blades that looked like they would work best for her size and closed it. It clicked softly as it closed. 

She pulled open the closet with the signature weapons. Her eyes scanned through the various blades and ranged weapons, trying to find a crossbow. Her eyes settled on something else. 

"Here you are, my beauty," she whispered. She reached towards the kindjal. It had been displayed against one of the walls of the closet. 

Jocelyn took it in hand. It looked as beautiful as the first time she’d seen it. The grip was still as comfortable. The guard fit perfectly against her fingers, in its beautiful stylized W shape, with the fairy wings shining on a black background. The pommel had an angelic power rune. 

The runes carved into the blade itself - Fearless, Swift and Courage in Combat - shone as she slid the weapon into its sheath and closed the closet. 

She remembered the day she’d first held it. It had been a gift from Valentine, an officialization of the strength of their partnership, and a promise of engagement and marriage. She’d been just 18. She’d loved the blade immediately, and had carried it with her everywhere, fought with it endlessly and cared for it dearly. 

She remembered Valentine’s young features, the pride and happiness in his eyes as he showed her the kindjal he’d had made for himself, slightly different, with a slighter guard and the Morgenstern star on the pommel. 

"They are made to be in a pair. Just like us, Jocelyn," he’d said. 

Jocelyn smiled fondly as she remembered it, remembered him. Valentine, before he was a monster. Maybe he was already a monster then. Maybe he’d just been hiding himself from her. Or maybe he’d still been good. She wasn’t sure.

She quietly walked out of the weapons’ master office and stuck close to the walls as she walked towards the door. 

Magnus Bane or no Magnus Bane, she was getting her son.

\-------------

Jace woke up to the pressure of straps around his torso, the noise of people shouting around him and the dizziness that came with blood loss.

"Room four, stat!"

Jace groaned loudly. His breath was short. He felt like he was choking. He couldn’t be here. Not only would it make him easier to be found but it would also threaten the hidden status of the Shadow World.

His blood was surely not mundane. Mundane enough that a transfusion would work, but he had angel blood, and demon blood, inside of him. There was no way they wouldn’t realize it. 

"I’m okay," he groaned. 

He tried to sit up, but he was strapped down. He managed to see the piece of glass that was sticking out of his chest. It had probably hit his lung. That would explain why it was so hard to breathe.

If only he had his stele. He’d activate an iratze a couple of times before going to Magnus’ and asking for him to heal him. None of this would be necessary. 

"He’s waking up!" 

Jace grunted and kept trying to get up. The straps were strong enough to hold a Shadowhunter down. It was surprising, he had to admit. 

"I gotta get... Magnus." 

"Give him ten milligrams of morphine." 

Jace felt like he could only scream. He needed out, he just needed to go. Mundane hospitals... No. His thoughts were becoming jumbled. He just needed...

"You don’t understand, I have to go..."

Everything was getting blurry. He hated this. He hated feeling this week. No matter how many times, he’d hurt himself on hunts, it had rarely been that bad. 

"My job is to save you. You’re not going anywhere." The woman next to him said. He felt a needle being stuck into his arm. Morphine. That meant he was going to lose consciousness. He could feel it...

"No..." He groaned. His vision was getting less and less focused. "No..." Darkness claimed him suddenly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday (I will not forget this time), for the end of the Lover Lost episode ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


	7. Lover Lost Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 3 of the Parabatai Lost adaptation!  
> I know this was unexpected, not only from the change of name of the episode, but also because it's a 3 parter and not a 2 parter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the end of this seriously challenging episode!

Simon’s hands were shaking, and he wasn’t even the one who was using angelic magic to track his mother. 

He couldn’t help it. Even if his hands were buried deep in his pockets, he could feel them trembling from the nerves that were taking him over.

"Anything?" He asked. 

They were walking, somewhat without real direction, through the streets of Simon’s neighborhood. Clary held the necklace in between her hands, and she seemed to be doing something with it. Simon didn’t really know what it was supposed to look like. 

Clary shook her head. "Sorry. I’m still figuring out this tracking stuff," she explained. She’d only been a real Shadowhunter for a month and a half, after all. Simon had been a vampire for almost a month. 

He was starting to get used to a lot of the aspects of his new life, and he hated it. He didn’t want to let who he used to be slip away from him. 

He tried so hard not to blame Clary. He tried so hard not to let himself hate her for what she’d done to him, what she’d made him into. She’d made him into a monster. Whether it was the truth of what he was or not, he just couldn’t shake that feeling. The feeling that Clary had doomed him.

"You know, Isabelle says I need to clear my mind, but it’s kinda hard to be Zen when you’re a Shadowhunter." Clary mumbled, looking down at her hands. 

Simon didn’t really listen. He didn’t want to focus on how hard it was to be a Shadowhunter, not when this was going on, not when they should be focusing on finding his mother. "If only I’d checked in, called every once in a while instead of totally avoiding her..." He started. He could feel himself dissolve into guilt and shame. 

He’d vowed that he would never leave her alone. Even if it had been a misguided promise from a child who didn’t understand why his father had died, Simon had decided growing up that he would keep it. And now, he’d completely dropped the ball.

"Well, maybe it’s worth telling her the truth," Clary pointed out, stopping in her tracks and turning to look back at him. 

Simon stared at her. "What? Come out of the coffin? Do you have any idea how she’ll react?" He asked, because for a moment he hoped she was joking.

"Well, there’s only one way to find out." Clary said, with that tone she used when she was trying to push him to do something. Hopeful and daring. 

Simon shook his head. "I don’t know, Clary. It’s a lot to wrap your head around." It was a lot even for him, and he was living it.

Clary took a step forward and gently touched his arm. "Simon," she started. He nodded, looking at her, waiting for what she was going to say. With luck, she’d have arguments that would overpower the fear and gut-wrenching feeling of dread he had. 

"Don’t forget, okay? This is the woman who put up with your endless band practices, your incurable hypochondria, who made you those gross mustard sandwiches when you refused to eat anything else," Clary reminded. "If she can accept you for all that, I’m pretty sure she can accept you for who you are. Okay?" 

The reminder was sweet, but... Simon couldn’t do this. Clary didn’t understand. 

"You don’t understand," he said softly. "It’s not who I am. Not who I was born as. It’s not like when I came out as pan. This is telling her: Hey, I died, and I came back as an undead creature." He explained. 

Clary opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. 

"It’s not like you, Clary. You were born a Shadowhunter, I wasn’t born a vampire. I wasn’t born undead. It’s not hypochondria or sandwiches. It’s death. And magic. And blood-sucking vampires. I have a hard enough time accepting myself as what I am... I can’t put that on her right now. I don’t think she’d be able to take it." 

Simon just wanted his mom to be safe. That was all he ever needed. She wouldn’t be able to deal with him being undead, so he couldn’t tell her. He had to protect her. He had to. He loved her too much not to. 

He closed his eyes. "I just want her to be okay. I don’t want to throw her into the deep end of the Shadow World. I want her to be okay..." 

He opened his eyes again and looked up at his friend. Clary seemed to understand. She was nodding slightly. He felt the heat before her. 

Around the necklace that rested in her palm, magic had started to work. Clary’s eyes opened wider. Simon waited for her to explain what she was feeling. Once again, he felt the divide that he’d started to see between them. They were different. They were much more different than they’d planned to be.

"Simon," Clary whispered. She frowned a little and then snapped out of the weird daze she’d been in. "Simon, I feel her. She’s this way, come on!" 

She grabbed his hand and they started running, at mundane speed. 

\--------

Magnus was heading towards the hallway, where he knew he could open a portal without being stared at too intently. 

Messages had been sent to Aldertree’s superiors, and there was not anything for him to do here at the Institute. 

Alec had been escaping him, evading him, and he was tired of walking around, waiting to be told to do something. He was going to go home, and then he’d wait for Jace there. 

He was still mad about that situation, even if Isabelle had apologized. He gathered now that he was angrier at Alec than he was at her, even if she had instigated it. He’d so believed that Alec would be entirely on his side. 

He’d forgotten it had only been a couple of weeks, and that Alec’s prejudice ran deeper than skin-level. Magnus was disappointed in himself for believing the fairytale. He should have known better. 

No matter how many times he told himself that though, no matter how many times he hissed and screamed and berated himself, it didn’t change the annoyance in Alec’s tone or the coldness in his eyes.

Magnus raised his hand and felt the magic pull of the opening of the portal. It felt like his magic was a strong muscle bending reality, space and time. That was pretty much what it was. 

He remembered the years he’d spent calculating the exact force that space and time exerted on reality, and what amount of magic he would have to use to bend it to his will and create portals. He had only managed the spatial kinds, not the temporal ones, and he was a bit thankful for that. 

Time portals were the kind of inventions that could do an enormous amount of damage if left in the hands of the wrong person. And Magnus did not want the responsibility of determining the right person.

He was opening the space rift when a voice resounded behind him, a loud 'Magnus, wait'. He knew the voice. 

He let his hand fall back down and turned around. At the end of the hallway, stood Alexander Lightwood. 

Magnus swallowed. He didn’t know what to expect. The last time they’d stood that way, in this corridor, Alec had snapped at him, told him he wasn’t doing enough. Was it going to happen again this time? Was Magnus going to get yelled at for not being a perfect little warlock pet again? 

"What is it?" He asked, coldly. 

Alec walked to him and stopped in front of him. He worried his hands a little, looked at him and everywhere else. 

"I had a talk with Izzy," Alec started.

Magnus almost swore out loud. "I’m sorry," he said. "I shouldn’t have gone to her like that." 

"What are you talking about?" Alec frowned. "I wanted to say thank you. And sorry." 

Magnus raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. 

"Thank you for telling her off, for reminding her what she needed to look for in her own behavior, and for letting her know how it had hurt you," Alec added. "And... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t understand." 

Magnus was surprised. He didn’t exactly think that his talk with Isabelle was going to have much impact, but he guessed the young woman had way more power over Alec than he did, for now. 

Alec shook his head. "I... I was mad. Because I thought you were... refusing to let Jace stay, because I thought you were being difficult, when you were just defending yourself, and your rights." Alec whispered. "I’m too used to asking things of Downworlders and them obeying."

Magnus looked at him for a moment. "Thank you for your apology. I need you to work on this, because as much as I’m going to work to help you, I cannot be the only one pulling the weight there."

Alec nodded, and put his hands behind his back, schooling himself to his military posture. Magnus was starting to understand what that posture meant. It meant that Alec was relaxing. 

"Before you ask," Magnus said softly. "Yes, I’ll let Jace stay." 

Alec smiled softly at him. "Thank you, Magnus." 

\--------

Maia walked into the hospital where they’d taken Jace. She hated the smell of hospitals. It was oppressive, too clean. It was too strong too, obviously covering the smell of fluids, disease and death with fake-cleanliness. 

Luke was walking next to her. He’d chewed her out for going after Jace, even if he knew she was in her rights. She was family to the deceased, and pack law allowed her to seek punishment for Jace’s crimes, especially if the Clave failed to dispense justice correctly. 

The Clave had called Luke in earlier, and the Head of the New York Institute had asked him to get out of the way and get his wolves under control. Luke had agreed to do so. Accompanying Maia to the hospital to get to Jace was doing his job as her Alpha. Making sure she didn’t get into trouble by being there.

Luke wasn’t a bad Alpha. Maia disliked that he seemed preoccupied by Shadowhunters more than by wolves sometimes, but he took care of them. He’d always taken care of her, too. She would never forget that. 

She was thankful to him, but she just wished he would be... more aggressive. She wished he would allow her to go after the Shadowhunter that had killed Gretel. 

The reminder of Gretel’s death was like a punch in the gut and Maia closed her fist. She didn’t let it show. She didn’t want Luke’s concern. She wanted justice. 

They pushed open the doors to the ER, and walked up to two of the people that worked there. 

"Excuse me," Luke asked, holding up his badge, making it obvious that he was here on official business.

The nurse turned to him with a smile that somewhat faded after she caught sight of the badge.

"Officer?" She enquired, a bit of worry in her tone. 

Maia let her eyes wander around the corridor she was in.

Luke showed the woman the sketch that had been made after the witness’s statement. It was clearly Jace. "Any chance you’ve seen this person? We got a tip that he might be in the ER."

Maia rarely saw exactly the way Luke worked as a cop. His voice was different, his posture was close to the one he used when he was dealing with pack issues. 

The nurse nodded. "Over there," she indicated a room, right next to where they were standing. "He came in a few hours ago," she added and Luke and Maia immediately started towards the door. 

She stopped them. "But we still need to run a few tests before we can clear-" She said, trying to keep them from going in. 

Maia didn’t blame her. She could feel her own anger and frustration and she knew that it was probably radiating out. 

"It’s okay," Luke reassured. He didn’t turn to look at the nurse as he spoke. "We just wanna have a quick chat." Maybe his tone was a bit too cold. Maia couldn’t help but smirk. Jace would pay. That was all that mattered. 

They walked forward. The door was closed but there was a glass panel inside of it that allowed them to see in the room . 

They saw the empty bed before opening the door. Somehow, in the last few moments, Jace had slipped out of his bed, his wounds probably still bleeding. The room smelled like Nephili blood, and the sheets were stained red. Maia could feel the wolf inside of her awaken at the smell, at the thrill of the hunt that was presented to her.

"Look around," Luke ordered. "He’s gotta be here somewhere."

He left in a direction, and she went in the other. She couldn’t help but be glad that she had put on a dark red vest today. Her steps were fast and her eyes scanned the hospital with precision. 

She could smell his blood permeating the air, he was close. There was no doubt that she would find him. She walked past a group of lab-coated doctors and into another corridor.

The scent got less intense suddenly. She walked a bit further to see if it was just a coincidence. 

Footsteps resounded behind her and the smell came back. She raised an eyebrow. More footsteps, from someone else.

"Hey, you!" The nurse called out. 

Maia turned around immediately. Jace was standing there, trying to get the nurse to leave him alone. Oh yeah. The wolf was howling happily inside of her. Hunt. Chase. Blood. Revenge.

"What do you think you’re doing? Look, I already told-"

"You don’t understand. I gotta get out of here right now." Jace muttered.

Maia let her wolf free. It started curling into her bones, snapping the smallest ones easily and starting to attack the others. It ached inside of her, made her want to scream, but she was too used to it. She was used to the snaps and the aches and the itching that made her want to tear at her skin, until she did and it let her other form free. 

Her clothes shredded, her eyes glowed, her body changed and she growled. The wolf was out. All she could hear was the sound of their heartbeats and the fear that came out of the mundane nurse. 

"What the hell is that sound?" The nurse said before turning around and seeing Maia. "Oh my God."

Jace turned to her. He looked at Maia, putting himself in front of the mundane. How selfless of him. Protecting the mundane. Too bad that selflessness hadn’t extended to Gretel. If it had, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

"Let the mundane go," he pleaded, putting his hands up. The smell of his blood was too tempting. And he deserved it. He deserved what Maia was going to do to him. "You have every reason to want me dead, but if you just let me explain, I-"

Maia growled. The shadowhunter started running. The floors were a little too slippery for her paws, but he wasn’t as fast as he should have been, so she had no problem following him. 

He scrambled up stairs and she just jumped over them. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Her whole being screamed for blood and revenge, the wolf howling. She watched as he failed to open the door. 

She pounced. Just as she did, the door opened and someone pulled him out of the staircase. 

It was a woman with dark red hair, who smelled like a Naphil too. The smell of burning metal from the rune the woman had applied to the door was disgusting. Maia growled. He was escaping.

\--------

Jocelyn - Jace couldn’t bring himself to refer to as Mom or Mother - guided him outside, and they walked out of the hospital building, onto the top of the roof of one of the other wards. 

The night was thicker now than when Jace had been taken in. As they ran towards a small metal staircase, Jace stopped her. 

"How’d you find me?" He asked. He was out of breath already and it was bothering him. 

Jocelyn noticed and took a stele out of her pocket, holding it out to him. He took it, and activated his iratze. It would only be a band-aid for now, but he didn’t have time to draw other runes and let them work. Some could take a while to heal him, and he needed to get to safety beforehand. 

"I followed the wolves," Jocelyn explained. "I’m here to help." 

Jace pursed his lips and slid the stele in his own pocket. He needed one of those. And he preferred knowing he held it than she. 

"Like you did last time when you shot an arrow at my head?" Jace replied, looking at her. She looked genuine, but he didn’t trust her. She’d almost killed him, blood mother or not. "I love those maternal instincts, but I think I’ll pass."

She sighed, and started talking again. "Jonathan -" 

"It’s Jace," he snapped. 

The last person that had called him Jonathan had been Valentine. He hated that name, whether it was his True name or not. He was Jace. Jace Lightwood. That sounded more like who he was than any other name he’d heard for himself lately. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, or Jace Wayland. Jace Lightwood, that was something he could rely on. 

He’d wished so hard to have his blood family back. He’d called them his real parents, even if he was aware of the hurt that it caused Alec and Izzy when he referred to them as strangers. He’d begged the Angels for his father to be alive, to be able to meet his mother. 

Blood was so important to Shadowhunters. Blood was everything. You lived and died for your bloodline, for your blood family. He would have died to get revenge for Michael Wayland’s death. 

Now he had his 'real' parents back, and a sister. Alec and Izzy were supposed to be strangers to him, were not supposed to be those he was loyal to. He was supposed to be loyal to Jocelyn. His mother. The only acceptable one of his parents. 

He watched her as she stepped forward and sighed. "I’m so sorry. What your father did to you, the choices I had to make..." 

She sounded genuinely sad, but still, Jace couldn’t help himself. He didn’t care for her love, for her apologies. 

"Yeah, well, I guess we both drew the short straw. Life lesson, don’t fall in love with the devil, right?" His tone wasn’t as sarcastic as he wished it was. 

"And you’ve suffered the most," Jocelyn said softly, looking at him. "I can’t change what happened. Just let me help you get back to Clary."

He wanted that. He wanted to be back with Clary, as much as he wanted to be back with Alec and Izzy. He’d grown so fond of Clary, in such a small amount of time. It almost scared him. It scared him because Valentine had predicted it, had told them, not so long ago as they stood in Renwick’s, fighting to save Jocelyn from Valentine’s claws, that Clary and him were inextricably linked. They would always be close to each other, always need each other, like a strange, almost cursed, Parabatai bond. 

"And back to the Clave, who wants me dead?" He asked. Clary was probably still at the Institute, still being kept under close surveillance. He couldn’t go back. 

Jocelyn shook her head. "The Clave can be reasoned with. The wolves can’t."

Jace bristled. Weren’t she and Luke an item? He thought that he remembered that story, of Valentine Turning Luke because Luke and Jocelyn were in love. 

Jace looked at her a bit more. She watched him closely, and seemed to believe that the Clave was the logical and reasonable party in this war. But the Clave wanted him dead for nothing but being coerced into being in the same place as Valentine. The wolves had a good reason for wanting revenge, even if they were misguided. He was responsible for Gretel’s death in a way. 

Jocelyn was playing a strange game. She’d obviously broken out of the Institute, had clearly stolen a Lightwood stele, and had a kindjal in her thigh holster that Jace recognized as one of the weapons in the Armory’s vaults. 

She preached that the Clave could be reasoned with, and yet she had broken out from under their gaze. She didn’t trust them with her own freedom, but she did with his. It didn’t make sense. 

"Just let me do this one thing for my son," Jocelyn begged, and reached up to caress his cheek. 

Jace took a step back and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from touching him. His voice was surprisingly venomous when he replied. "You know, I made it this far on my own. I think I’ll keep it that way."

He let go of her hand and started running. The agility and strength runes and his Nephilic composition kept him from breaking his legs as he jumped off of the roof and landed on the concrete below. It still wasn’t pleasant, but it was just a light ache. He knew nothing was broken. 

He didn’t feel any remorse for his words or for leaving her behind as he started running into the night, towards Magnus’ loft. 

\------

Elaine sat at a table in a coffee shop, close to the window. Simon vaguely recognized this place, it wasn’t far from the dorm he was supposed to live at before this madness, and the vampirism, had happened. 

They’d gotten coffee there a couple of times, and Elaine had really enjoyed their cappuccinos. He watched her for a moment, before looking back at Clary. 

She was still standing by his side, watching Elaine as well. When he looked at her, she turned to him. 

"Are you ready for this?" She asked softly. 

Simon didn’t know if he was. All he knew was that he had to reassure his mother, somehow, even if the smell of coffee and pastries coming off of the shop was nauseating. 

"Thank you for helping me," he said, not replying to her question. 

Standing there, looking at his mom, was causing him massive amounts of anxiety. Who knew that not only senses but also emotions were heightened for vampires? 

He shifted a little. "I think this is a solo mission," he explained. "I need to reassure her, and you with your new... tattoos and attitude and everything..." 

Clary nodded, a small chuckle on her lips. "I get it. I’m different now."

Simon sighed. "I don’t want to ostracize you, but it’s just... between my mom and I. Besides, don’t you have your brother to save?" 

It felt weird to refer to Jace as her brother. For him, Clary was still the only child of single mom Jocelyn and her partner-or-not Luke. Not the second child of wife-of-a-genocidal-maniac Jocelyn and werewolf Luke. All of this was so foreign. 

Clary nodded. "Yeah. I gotta get Jace back." She whispered. "You got this, okay? Whatever you want to do, whatever you have to do. You can do this." 

Simon smiled at her. Clary stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek, one of those long, firm, almost too intense cheek kisses that she used to give everyone she loved, platonically or not, when she was a kid. She’d stopped doing it to everyone but Simon when they’d hit puberty and middle school, because the boys and girls she did it to would get weird, and take it as a sign of romance. 

Simon kept her from moving away by wrapping his arms around her and answering the cheek kiss with a tight hug. He was tightening his arms a little more when she made a small painful sound. 

"Vampire strength, dude," she pointed out and he let go of her immediately. 

"Fuck, I’m sorry." 

She shrugged. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll just kinda bruise, and then heal it with an iratze." 

She said those words that still sounded like gibberish to him. Again, he was reminded of how different they were now. They’d been so close before. Two non-Christian and non-straight kids, going through life together. Now they were a Shadowhunter and a vampire. Simon was still Jewish and pan, she was still not-Christian and a lesbian but they were on different sides of the fence. 

Now that Simon thought about it, Clary’s non-Christianness had been less of a burden for her than for him. People took atheism easier than Judaism, understood it more than Judaism, and accepted it. 

He was about to say something when Clary’s phone rang. She took a step back and pulled it out of her pocket. She waved goodbye to him and walked away. He looked back towards the shop, and took a deep breath. 

He pushed open the door. 

\--------

Izzy slid her phone out of her pocket. Around her, the field soldiers were chatting, looking at each other, and intermittently glancing over at the message that was displayed on the screens around them. 

All missions were cancelled until further notice, as the New York Institute was placed under investigation by the Head of the US Institutes. They all were tired of the constant shift in leadership, and the various times that the Institute had been placed under scrutiny this last month or so. 

Izzy had to admit it hadn’t been what she’d been expecting from Blackhallow, the Head of USIs. But it was working nonetheless. No one from the Institute was out hunting Jace anymore. 

She opened her phone and started walking out of the ops room, into the corridors that led to the Armory. She dialed Clary’s number. 

She was quick to reply. "Yeah, Iz, I’m on my way back."

Izzy shook her head, even if Clary couldn’t see it from the other side of the call. "Clary, the plan has worked. The Head of United States Institutes has gone over Aldertree’s head and ordered everyone to stand down."

She walked down the corridor, past the Head of Institute’s office, and down a flight of stairs.

"So Jace is saved?" Clary asked, hope streaming through her words like sunshine through a tree’s leaves.

"Only on the Clave side," Izzy sighed. She stepped through the doors. The room was empty, of course. 

She opened the stele drawer quickly. One of the Lightwood steles was missing, she noticed as she took another. She also took a seraph blade and added it to her thigh holster. She steadied her grip. Her right hand was shaking more and more. 

"We need to talk with the wolves. You know them, and you were a witness to Gretel’s real fate. You are the only one who can tell them to stand down now. I’ll be taking my bike and trying to get to you as fast as possible. They are heading to Magnus’." 

This was a diplomatic mess and a half. Izzy had no idea if Clary would even succeed in taking care of this. Clary was young, and she wasn’t used to the politics of the werewolf-Clave relationship. 

Strangely enough, the wolves weren’t the race the Nephilim had the worst relationship with. It was maybe messier, but it wasn’t worse than the one with the warlocks, who barely communicated with the Clave. 

The wolves were the only Downworlders allowed to live in Idris, in the Brocelind Forest. That specific pack was wild but they were close enough to the Clave that they were allowed on the land. They had almost died out around 18 years prior, during the Uprising. 

Izzy walked down the corridors again, this time going to the elevator to get to the garage. 

"I’ll do my best. Thank you, Iz," Clary replied. 

"I’ll be there as soon as possible, I promise," Izzy said, trying to be as certain as she could. 

She hung up and put her phone back in her pocket. She turned around the corner of the hallway and bumped into someone that was standing there. 

"Shit!" She cursed and took a step back. The man grabbed her wrist to keep her upright. She looked up at him, opening her mouth to thank him. She closed it the second she realized who it was. 

Aldertree didn’t let go of her. "You shouldn’t talk so loudly, Isabelle. Someone could hear you plotting to disobey Blackhallow’s orders." 

He looked at her in a way that was very unexpected. Izzy had thought he would glare at her, angry about her and her brother’s transgression. He just looked thoughtful, with a hint of viciousness glinting in his eyes. 

He knew what they had done, Izzy realized. Good. She wanted him to know that he was so disliked by his subordinates that they would break the rules of hierarchy to disobey his orders.

"We did what we had to do," she replied. "When are you gonna realize that Jace is on our side?"

Aldertree chuckled. He was still holding her wrist. It was getting to be a lot and Izzy was increasingly uncomfortable. 

Aldertree looked at her with such condescension in his eyes that it made her want to punch him in the face. "Our side doesn’t murder werewolves." 

"Neither does Jace," Izzy replied. Even in Aldertree’s hand, her wrist had tremors.

"Not according to Lucian Graymark’s pack," Aldertree smirked. He shot a glance at her hand, then back at her. "You know, I was hoping to protect Jace by bringing him here, but clearly you’ve made other plans. So now it looks like the pack will get their pound of flesh after all." 

Izzy shifted, trying to pull herself out of his grip. "Clary will stop them." She had all the faith in her friend. Clary was stronger every day, and she was basically Luke's daughter. 

Luke and Clary didn't seem to care about blood the way the rest of the Shadowhunters did. Luke's change of perspective had probably gone with the lyncathropy disease, and Izzy guessed Clary had just been raised that way, by him and maybe somewhat by Jocelyn as well.

Aldertree huffed, looking at her pitifully. "Miss Morgenstern is an untrained Shadowhunter, who will not be able to stand her ground in front of the Pack. If only she had back up..." 

He let go of her, and looked down, staring at her hand, which started shaking even more. He smirked again, glancing up at her with a raised eyebrow. 

"But you surely cannot drive with your hands shaking like this." 

Izzy hated how satisfied Aldertree looked. This wasn't funny. The addiction was hard to fight against, especially when the yin fen worked so well. It made her steady and dissipated the pain. And the trembling of her hand was just a side effect. 

She thought back at how she had administered the last of what she had earlier in the morning, and the empty little tin that was on her dresser.

"I need a refill." 

Aldertree sighed. "And you won’t get one. That’s what you get for acting the way you did, stepping over a good dozen of hierarchical Clave regulations and costing us Jace’s safety." 

Izzy wanted to scream. She looked at him and shook her head. This was cruel. 

"You can't do that. I thought you were a medic, don't you understand that not giving me medicine is wrong?" She asked angrily, stepping up to him. "I'll make you regret this." 

She couldn't stop herself. She could feel the anger like a coil around her throat, and the tremors in her hands, and the cravings.

"You should have thought about this earlier, Isabelle," Aldertree said, taking a step back. "If only you had a way to get more..."

Izzy hissed. The idea of not getting any more, of having to deal with the ache in her shoulder for longer, when she needed to go to Clary and Jace... 

"What do I need to do to get more?" She asked, without really giving herself the permission to speak. 

Aldertree grinned at her, a grin so full of satisfaction that it made her want to puke. 

"Turn Jace over to me."

\--------

Maia had escaped the hospital without much trouble. Luke had chewed her out a little, but she’d been back on the tracks of the Shadowhunter right after.

She was exhausted, if she was being honest. She’d lost Gretel, and her emotional distress, coupled with the hunt and turning into her wolf form had exhausted her.

She was so close to revenge, that she wouldn’t stop. She could rest when Jace Morgenstern’s body was laying on the ground lifeless, the way Gretel’s had. 

She knew she would get in trouble with the Clave, but she didn’t care right now. She just wanted justice, the wolves’ justice, for Gretel’s death. 

She didn’t let herself think about what it meant to have her be gone. Some of Gretel’s clothes and a toothbrush were still at her apartment. She was going to have to go home to that, to the emptiness and the knowledge that Gretel wouldn’t come back for her things. 

Her thoughts were disrupted by the wolves around her. They shifted and growled softly as footsteps resounded. A Shadowhunter was coming. It was probably Jace. 

They were a couple of blocks away from the home of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who was supposedly the boyfriend of Jace Morgenstern’s brother. It made sense that they would hide him away here.

The man turned into the street where she was waiting and stopped as he saw her and the wolves in their wolf forms.

"End of the line," she pointed out, looking at him.

"So close. And yet, so far." Jace muttered and she chuckled.

He turned back to her and opened his mouth to talk but she cut him off.

"Gretel was our pack member," she snapped. She wasn’t succeeding to hide the pain in her voice, and suddenly, it started to overpower her. "And she was my girlfriend," she added, a little softer. Pain and sadness were curling into her bones, knotting her stomach. She felt like she was going to puke, but there was a weight on her chest that kept it all down. "You need to pay for what you did to her."

Jace sighed and nodded. "I know. Valentine used me. He... He wanted my sister to go and kidnap your girlfriend, and I... I took her place, and I did it. I thought it would be better if the kidnapping was on me than on her."

"The kidnapping? Her blood is on your hands!" Maia shouted in reply. "You killed her!" Her voice was going up, too high, too emotional, she needed to keep herself in check and yet she couldn’t.

"I didn’t kill her, please. I know I shouldn’t have obeyed him, but I had no idea he was going to kill her." Jace begged. 

Maia rolled her eyes. "Because you didn’t know he’s a genocidal maniac who wants the Downworld eradicated?" 

Jace opened his mouth and closed it again. He had nothing to add. Maia looked at him. "Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

If he was innocent... Why would happen to her if she killed an innocent? What would happen to her soul?

"Because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love."

The words sounded true. Maia didn’t know what to think. She wished she could just make it all stop, make the wave of pain that was overcoming her stop. 

The wolves around her growled and snapped, waiting for her orders to attack. She knew she was the one that would be responsible for his death. As much as she wanted it... Could she afford it? 

She opened her mouth to speak when a loud shout resounded around them. "Stop!"

It was a woman’s voice, and the source of it appeared, stopping right in her tracks. She was a bit smaller than Maia had expected, and had red hair. She recognized her from Luke’s photos. It was Clary Fray. Jace’s sister.

Next to her stood Luke. "Stand down!" He shouted as well, and she felt the order down to her bones. It was an Alpha’s order. Her alpha’s order. All her instincts were screaming at her to obey.

"Keep out of this, Luke!" She replied. 

Behind her, a portal opened and closed and two pairs of footsteps resounded against the ground. She was surrounded. 

"Jace didn’t kill Gretel," Clary shouted. "It was Valentine. I’m telling you the truth. I swear! I was there!"

So he was innocent. According to his sister, at least. She swallowed and took a step back. Taito was in wolf form by her side and he saw her take a step back. 

She knew what was going to happen before it happened. She saw Taito gather his legs and jump, pouncing towards Jace, who only had time to raise a hand up. His teeth closed on the man’s wrist.

There was a shout of pain. The people that were standing behind Maia moved, running past her and towards the tumble of wolf and Shadowhunter. They pulled Taito off, the warlock using magic to hold him back as the dark-haired man grabbed Jace and pulled him away. 

The man’s wrist was torn into shreds. Maia felt frozen, empty, she just looked at the scene, at the people and stayed quiet. It was like the anger was gone and nothing had taken its place.

The engine of a motorcycle grumbled as the machine screeched to a halt. A woman got off of it. 

"By the order of the Clave, Jace Wayland is coming with me!" She shouted. 

Maia felt her knees buckle and she hit the ground. The pain came back. Not only the pain of her knees hitting the concrete, but also the pain of the loss she’d suffered. 

She curled up on herself and whined. She couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face. She felt Luke’s arms and smelled him around her, the reassuring odor of the man she almost considered a father, of her alpha, who would protect her. 

"She’s gone," she sobbed. 

\-------

Alec’s arm was wrapped tightly around Jace’s waist as they walked through the portal into the Institute. Magnus had elected to stay at the loft and just let the Shadowhunters go back by themselves. 

They’d drawn and activated a number of iratzes. Jace would need to get treatment from Silent Brothers when it came to his wrist. Some of the bones were broken and the wound needed more than some runes to fix correctly.

Izzy was walking in front of them, and Clary behind. Izzy couldn’t bring herself to look back at the people she loved. She couldn’t bring herself to look at them as she was going to betray them and turn Jace in. 

She ground her teeth as they reached the ops room, where Aldertree and Clave soldiers stood. The soldiers were obviously from a City of Bones transport unit. 

"What’s going on?" Alec asked as they walked back in. 

Izzy swallowed. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I didn’t have a choice." 

She had a choice. She just hadn’t been strong enough to choose the right path. It made her feel terrible, the guilt and shame chewing at her. 

"Jace Morgenstern!" Aldertree called out. "You are hereby sentenced to the City of Bones to await trial for the charge of high treason and aiding Valentine in the war against the Clave." 

"Wait what?" Clary snapped. "You can’t do this. He’s injured!"

"The Silent Brothers will take care of his wounds. Justice still needs to be given." Aldertree shrugged, looking at the exhausted and angry Shadowhunters in front of him.

Izzy stood on the side, wishing to disappear. Unfortunately for her, he noticed that. Aldertree smirked and her heart stopped. 

"Of course, all thanks must be given to Isabelle for the help provided in bringing Jace to justice," Aldertree said, loudly. "Please come to my office as soon as possible. I keep my promises." 

Knowing well the discord he’d caused, Aldertree walked away. Alec didn’t even look at Izzy. Clary turned to her. 

"What did he promise you in exchange for Jace’s life?" She hissed. "What could be worth your own brother’s freedom?" 

Izzy swallowed and looked away. "I..."

Clary didn’t leave her a chance to continue. "After all you’ve said, all you’ve done, I thought you would be on our side. I thought you understood us." She snapped. 

Izzy took a step forward and tried to touch Clary but the red-haired woman took a step back. "Don’t touch me. You’re not better than anyone else." She hissed, and walked away. 

Izzy felt her heart crumble into pieces. She’d needed the yin fen. She’d craved it, so deeply that she’d turned in her own brother for it. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t stronger than the addicts she’d seen at the Sanatorium.

\------

Luke sighed as he pulled the cover over Maia’s sleeping body. She’d finally fallen asleep after hours of sobbing. He’d managed to make her eat something in between fits of sobs, and she’d kept some of it down. 

He hated that this had happened to her, and to his Pack. He was supposed to protect them, but he’d been so wrapped up in Jocelyn’s comeback to the Shadow World that he’d neglected their security. 

Maia hadn’t been able to go back home, not wanting to be in the shadows and memories of Gretel, so he’d let her stay at his apartment. It was small and messy, but it was the only place where he could keep her safe right now. 

He stood up from the side of the bed and closed the door of the bedroom back behind him. 

He went to the kitchen and made himself something to eat. Now that Maia was asleep, he could himself take some time and relax. It had been a long day. Between the call from the Institute, and trying to manage his pack... He would also have to manage Gretel’s murder on the mundane side of things.

He closed his eyes for a second at the thought of the mountain of paperwork, and the lies he’d have to tell to get everyone off of Jace’s track. 

He turned on the TV and sat in front of it, but kept the volume down. He started eating. He was halfway through his meal when the doorbell rang. Luke sighed deeply. What was that about? 

He opened the door, and there was Simon, standing, looking a bit lost and sad. Luke sighed and shook his head. 

"What’s going on?" 

He had too many kids to look after. 

"I’m having dinner at home with Mom, and there’s a vampire clan war brewing that I’m in the middle of. I don’t know what to do." 

Luke had a small sigh and smiled. "Come on in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 8. And it is NOT what you are expecting ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	8. Blood of the Covenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'm going to you this week with a bit of a different chapter...
> 
> I know you were expecting to go directly to 2x04, but that's just not how I'm doing it.
> 
> This chapter is completely original, and it focuses on Izzy and Jace's relationship!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

_ Isabelle’s tenth birthday had passed by quite discreetly. Her parents had never been ones for mundane-like celebrations, but they usually, at least, got her a small gift. Nothing for her this year. Michael Wayland had just died.  _

_ An attack of some rogue Shadowhunters, they had said, and Isabelle had frowned. Rogue Shadowhunters didn’t exist. Why would they go against the Clave?  _

_ She sat on the steps of the New York Institute that day, three days after her tenth birthday, and watched the mundanes walk by the gates of the property. She was still within the circle of influence of the glamours that kept the Institute hidden. _

_ She’d heard earlier that her parents were home after a few days in Alicante, dealing with the funeral rites for Michael Wayland, and helping the Clave find somewhere for his son to stay.  _

_ Much to Izzy’s annoyance, they had found somewhere for the boy to stay… with her family. A couple of hours ago, Maryse and Robert Lightwood had brought home Jace Wayland.  _

_ Jace was ten as well and he had blond hair. It was almost like the blond hair that Max, Izzy’s little brother, had, except Max was a baby and he would grow into dark hair like the rest of the family. Jace would never have dark hair. He would never be a Lightwood.  _

_ Isabelle huffed. She disliked all the attention that was around Jace. It had only been two or three hours but her parents hadn’t even looked for her. She kicked a pebble with her foot. A mundane girl walked by wearing a floaty pink dress and some santiags. Isabelle pouted. She was wearing training clothing.  _

_ The door behind her opened but she paid no attention to it.  _

_ “Oh. I thought I’d be alone out here.”  _

_ Isabelle turned around at the unknown voice. She saw some blond hair and a little smile and she sighed. Jace Wayland.  _

_ “Well you obviously won’t be,” she muttered.  _

_ The boy shrugged and walked closer, sitting down on the steps next to her. She almost scooted away but kept herself from doing it. He wasn’t close, and it would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?  _

_ They stayed silent for a while, watching the mundanes. A dog barked. Isabelle unwittingly cooed. From the corner of his eyes, she saw Jace smile a little at that. She frowned and looked away. Why was he smiling?  _

_ After a while, Jace moved again, and something landed next to her on the steps. It was a small package, wrapped in colorful wrapping paper with ‘Isabelle’ written in a slightly hesitant script on it.  _

_ “When they told me I would stay with you, I did some research. It was your birthday, when your parents got me. Sorry they had to miss it.”  _

_ Isabelle swallowed and grabbed the package in her hands. She carefully tore at the yellow and orange wrapping paper.  _

_ It was a book. It was small, bound in red leather, with the title printed in delicate letters of gold foils.  _ “A Treasury of Tales for Nephilim.” 

_ “That’s a children’s book,” Isabelle pointed out, surprised. The gifts she was given were usually more on the… utilitarian side. Blades. Gear. Textbooks. _

_ “I know,” Jace replied. “I asked your parents. You like to read. And I thought you’d like this one. It’s a bunch of stories, Nephilim stories. Like Jonathan Shadowhunter and David the Silent.” _

_ Despite how much she wanted not to like it, Isabelle could feel her curiosity already wanting to open the book and start going through the pages, devouring the information. She knew some about Jonathan Shadowhunter, of course, everybody did. But the Lightwoods hadn’t really been some for childhood stories.  _

_ They had “ _ A La Claire Fontaine”,  _ sung by their mother when they couldn’t fall asleep, but that was it.  _

_ “Thank you,” she whispered and looked up. Jace looked away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. She smiled at that.  _

_ “It’s nothing,” he waved it off. He was serious, for a ten-year-old.  _

_ \---------------------------- _

Jocelyn looked older. Izzy knew that it was a strange kind of observation, because there was so much more going on with Jocelyn than just the thin wrinkles that snaked around her eyes and mouth. 

For some reason though, as she tried to run away from the coil of angry thoughts in her mind, it was all she was focusing on. On the top of her head, the dark red hair had silvery roots. 

She looked a lot like Clary like this. Izzy understood why Hodge had initially mistaken Clary for Jocelyn. Their mouths were the same, and so was most of the structure of their face. Clary had the angry brow of her father though, and the shape of his eyes. 

Izzy swallowed and shifted. She was sitting on a chair in the ops room. She felt like a bit of a creep, staring at Jocelyn across the room, where the older woman was sitting and working. 

Her eyes travelled to the Circle rune that was burnt into Jocelyn’s neck. She had seen plenty of Circle runes before, but recently, she’d started thinking about them more. About how they looked, what they meant. Circle runes were red and burning and wrong. They were off. Like they hadn’t been blessed by the angels. 

Izzy could see, peeking out of the cleavage of the t-shirt, Jocelyn’s Wedded Union rune. It looked off too, faded. It shouldn’t have surprised Izzy. Jocelyn and Valentine had been estranged for eighteen years, and their geographical proximity when he’d abducted her hadn’t been nearly enough to revive the rune. 

What was it like to be Wedded to someone like Valentine? To see, every day, in the mirror, the mark that celebrated it, that bonded it? Had Jocelyn wanted to cut it off of her skin? Had she wanted to go to the Adamant Citadel and have an Iron Sister cut it? 

Izzy would have done that, had she been married to someone like Valentine. Maybe she’d had done it if she’d been married to someone she didn’t love, too. If her parents had gone through with marrying her off as well, like they’d planned for both Alec and her, then she would probably have escaped to the Citadel one night and had them undo it. Was she even allowed to do that without her spouse’s approval? 

She was deep in her thoughts when she heard footsteps coming towards her.

Izzy looked up, and crossed the eyes of Clary. She immediately looked away. Still, she caught sight of the sudden anger in the eyes of the other woman. 

She wished she could tell Clary. She wished she could explain everything and why she’d turned Jace in. Why she’d betrayed him, and her too. She wished she could say that she was hurting too, so much, because of what she had done. But she couldn’t tell Clary any of that. Not only would Clary not listen to her but she would probably have to explain the yin fen. The guilt and shame were overwhelming. 

Jace was her brother and she loved him. He’d been there for her, in so many ways, since the very beginning. It had been hard, to love him, to accept him as her brother, to see how Maryse doted on him the way she didn’t dote on Izzy. 

She had the disadvantage of being a girl, of being a little too hard-headed. Izzy was even more like Maryse than Clary was like Jocelyn. She’d seen pictures of Maryse at her age, and they were almost frighteningly alike. The way Maryse acted towards her hurt even more when Izzy realized that they were the same. 

“Could you please stop staring at my mom?” Clary asked, her voice like the cold slap of the wind in winter. 

“I-” 

“Are you planning to have her arrested too?” Clary cut off. 

Izzy sighed and stood up. Clary seemed to be wanting to push her away, and it was working. And it hurt like hell. Izzy walked out, her heart all but shattering into pieces. 

\-------------

_ “We could be parabatai, you know?”  _

_ Isabelle looked up from the seraph blade she was cleaning. It was the 15th one of the session, and she was getting seriously tired of wiping out dried up ichor and ash from the blades.  _

_ Alec was standing across from her, cleaning his own bucket-full of dirty seraph blades. It was part of the training, their mother had said. After all, they may be the children of the Heads of their Institute, but they were also students of the Academy. That made them glorified servants to most of the active Shadowhunters around them.  _

_ “We’re both over 12,” Alec continued, putting down the blade he was cleaning and taking another. “And we’re amazing when we train together.”  _

_ “You’re amazing,” Isabelle mumbled. “I’m too slow and not taking it seriously’,” she added, grumbling the most recent criticism from their mother. She always took it to heart, even if she knew it wasn’t a good idea. “Mom would much rather you become Jace’s parabatai than mine.”  _

_ “Jace doesn’t need a parabatai,” Alec replied with a shrug. “And besides, I want you as a parabatai, not Jace. He’s great, and I love him, but we wouldn’t work. We’re different.”  _

_ Isabelle sighed. Jace had been there for a couple of years now, and though she really liked him, she couldn’t help the jealousy that ate away at her when she saw how her mom treated him. Maryse was so nice to him, so appreciative of his efforts. It made Izzy want to scream. She needed her mom and her mom didn’t give a fuck, only criticizing her.  _

_ The idea of becoming Alec’s parabatai was incredibly appealing, she had to admit. She loved fighting with him. They were a great team and worked well together. They killed more demons when they were together than when they were solo, or so the simulations said. It also made her feel steadier when they were out. Like she had someone to hold onto.  _

_ “We’ve been talking about it for years now,” Isabelle chuckled. “And honestly… I think we’d be a great pair.”  _

_ \------------------ _

Isabelle punched repeatedly at the punching bag. She was burning up, her hands shook, and she was trying to resist the pull of the yin fen. She was stronger than this. And she needed to ration the yin fen she had left. She didn’t want to keep being in Aldertree’s pocket, not after what he had done to her. 

Clary’s rage was warranted, but Izzy still felt alone. She wished she could explain what was happening, what the yin fen meant, and how she needed it. But Clary didn’t even want to be in the same room with her.

She walked out of the cafeteria hall when Izzy came in, even if she wasn’t done eating. She walked out of rooms when Izzy walked in. She avoided her in the corridors. It was eating Izzy alive. 

“Well, someone’s pissed off.” 

Alec’s voice resounded behind her and Izzy couldn’t help but let out a loud sigh of annoyance. She stopped punching and turned around, hiding her shaking hand behind her back. 

Alec looked a little tired, but nothing out of the ordinary. 

“I just came back from the City of Bones,” Alec pointed out, and Izzy bit her lip. He’d seen Jace. 

It had been a couple of days and Izzy hadn’t been there yet. She didn’t even want to go there. She knew the shame and guilt she would feel upon seeing Jace there, imprisoned and tortured. She knew what it was like to be imprisoned there. She had been, not that long ago. 

A part of her almost smiled at the idea that all of them were slowly getting High Treason charges added to their files. She’d had hers, now it was Jace’s, and Clary and Alec might eventually get one.

“How is he?” She asked. She cared, of course she did. She just didn’t know how to face him after what she’d done. With shaky hands and tears in her eyes probably.

“He’s doing as good as he can. The City of Bones is brutal. He’s in a cell next to Hodge.”

Izzy winced. She’d thought Hodge would have been deruned or executed by now. That was a bit of a surprise.

“Are you going to go see him?” Alec asked. He probably knew the answer already, but he was leaving her an open door for her to tell him how she was feeling. 

“I…” Izzy started. She stopped, looking back at the punching back with its sweat stains and the feeling of hunger in her core, the hunger for yin fen. She grabbed her wrist and kept her hand from shaking, the tremors painful reminders of where she was at, what she had done, and everything that was her fault. 

“I’ll try,” she replied. She couldn’t say more. She couldn’t promise anything and she couldn’t let him know that the idea of seeing Jace right now made her want to cry.

Alec walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, surprising her. She was expecting him to be as angry as Clary was. He wasn’t. Or maybe he was, but differently. “I know it’s hard. You made a choice, I’m sure you had no other option,” Alec whispered. “He needs you.” 

_ He doesn’t need the one who gave him up to the Clave for drugs, _ Izzy thought. She didn’t say it out loud though. She just tried to relax in her parabatai’s arms.

\-----------------

_ Isabelle couldn’t sleep. Her alarm clock read 4am, and she was re-reading her old copy of “ _ A Treasury of Tales for Nephilim”.  _ Ever since Jace had gifted it to her when they’d first met, she’d read it almost daily, every story in no particular order. They’d become her comfort, the more heroic version of her own world that she dived into whenever it wasn’t so glamorous and fun and heroic in real life.  _

_ She couldn’t sleep because of the comments from her mother some time before. She was acting like she was still a child. She was 16, she was just finishing her Academy training with 2 years of advance on her age group, and her parabatai bond with Alec was blooming and working beautifully, and she was doing everything perfectly.  _

_ Except she wasn’t, as usual. She never did everything perfectly, not according to Maryse Lightwood. The memory of today’s comments made her want to scream into her pillow. Or sneak out and go dancing. _

_ She knew that she wasn’t technically allowed into the clubs where she regularly spent her nights, but she looked older than she was, and she wore a glamour to get in, most of the time. Dancing in the sweaty mass of moving bodies, kissing men in the darkness, those made her forget how shitty she felt half of the time. She knew Alec knew. They were parabatai. Of course he knew. _

_ She sighed. She was tired. She wasn’t going to fall asleep, but she was still tired. She put the book down on her covers and laid back down a little, just enough to feel some sort of comfort. She felt clammy though, in the sheets she’d been laying in for hours now.  _

_ She shifted. Everything was so quiet. She couldn’t hear anything happening outside, no matter how she strained. She grabbed her stele from her bedside table and reached over to her neck, activating her heightened hearing rune.  _

_ Immediately, she started hearing much more things. Animals outside, people shuffling in other rooms of the Institute, the ones that didn’t have activated soundless runes. Ops room Shadowhunters on night shifts. And something else. _

_ She frowned, and focused on the strange noise that she could hear. Someone was… screaming? No, not screaming, it wasn’t as loud as screaming. It was muffled in a way, weak. And she was getting worried.  _

_ Isabelle stood up and put on some shoes. One never knew if there would be a forgotten blade on the floor. She opened the door and slipped out of her bedroom, following the noises down the corridor. It didn’t take long for her to reach the door from which came the pained noises.  _

_ It was Jace’s door.  _

_ Isabelle pushed it open. It wasn’t even locked.  _

_ Jace was in bed, curling up in sheets, writhing with something that could only be described as pain on his face. He looked small and distressed and Izzy didn’t know what he was dreaming about but she knew it was bad.  _

_ Jace didn’t really show fear, or pain. He was always this headstrong and closed off person, never letting any real weakness or negative emotion show. Isabelle was always impressed by that, and Maryse always praised his ability to take punishment.  _

_ Izzy rushed to his side. “Jace!” She called out.  _

_ “Stop!” Jace whined. “Please, I understand what I did wrong, please stop…” He added and Izzy’s heart broke.  _

_ He tore at the sheets, the fabric ripping in a sound that resounded too loudly in Izzy’s ears. She grabbed at his arms, trying to steady him and he seized. Panic was clear in his features, clear in the sounds of distress he made. Izzy couldn’t imagine the amount of pain he appeared to be enduring. _

_ “Wake up, please,” she pleaded, gently touching him again. He slapped her hand away, eyes shooting open. _

_ He stumbled backwards into the bed, as far away from her as possible.  _

_ Izzy stood up, hands held up, looking at him. “It’s me. It’s Izzy,” she whispered. “You’re okay. You’re safe, you’re home.” _

_ He was shivering, and it was obvious that the sheets were wet with sweat. His eyes were wide and crazed with fear, and he seemed to struggle with breathing. He held his hands close to his chest, curled up on himself, as if trying to protect himself from an assailant who wasn’t there. _

_ “Jace?” She asked. _

_ That seemed to take him out of his fearful trance. He was able to take a deep breath. He looked at her, and tears replaced fear in his eyes almost instantly.  _

_ Izzy rushed to him and took him in her arms, holding him tightly. “Hey. I’m here with you. Everything is going to be okay.”  _

_ The torn and sweaty sheets were not good for falling back to sleep in, so, when Jace was done sobbing into her shoulder, Izzy brought him back to her room. They both fell asleep in Izzy’s bed. Jace didn’t have another nightmare that night. _

_ \---------------- _

Izzy had woken up on the day of her birthday, and there had been nothing but heaviness in her steps, that entire day. 

Clary was still mad at her, Alec was busy, and Jace was in the City of Bones. She was alone. Her mom and dad were busy in Alicante, and so was Max, finishing classes and working hard as he neared his Rune Ceremony. He was growing up strong. 

Izzy focused on work for most of the day. Birthdays weren’t really celebrated with big parties in Nephili culture. Sometimes, there was an offering made to the Angels at Lake Lyn, if the child had been especially hard to conceive, or if they had almost died young or were sick. 

Izzy was now 21, fully healthy, and as far as she knew, it hadn’t taken much effort for her parents to have her. There was no celebration to be had. 

Hodge would have given her a small gift, had he been there, had he not betrayed them. He did so, every year, and had done so ever since she’d started training with him. The only other gifts she’d ever gotten had been weaponry, or ladylike clothing, up until her Rune Ceremony. And well… Jace’s book. 

Jace’s book was definitely the one gift she held the dearest. She still had it, in the bedside table next to her bed, pages worn and stained with use and time and the love of a growing teenager. 

She wasn’t reading it right now. She couldn’t even look at it, because of what it represented. The bond between Jace and her, that she had spent so long cultivating, the love she genuinely had for her brother… She didn’t deserve to be his sister after what she’d done.

Clary was angrily punching the bag in the training room when Izzy walked in, ready to train, having warmed up on the running machines. She stopped as she saw the red hair and the pissed off silhouette of the other woman. She didn’t really want to deal with what Clary would tell her. 

She stepped into the room anyway. After all, this was where she lived too. And she had to train, to get the restless energy from the lack of yin fen out. She needed another dose soon before she started to feel sick and shake, but for now, it was still manageable. 

She walked across the room, paying as little mind to the other woman as she could. She reached the column upon which had been fixed the tablet that allowed her to open the various shelves and closets with training weapons, as well as activate the punching bags and other tools that were stored beneath the floor of the training room. 

She entered her ID and password, selected a free standing punching bag with grappling arms and waited for the tiles to shift and for it to slide out from the floor. 

She caught Clary’s eye as the bag rose from beneath the floor. Clary glared at her steadily, leaving a trail of fire on Izzy’s skin, in a very unpleasant manner. Izzy enjoyed certain ‘fiery’ looks, the ones from people that wanted her, not from her dear friend, who now hated her. 

“I’m training,” Clary said, her voice loud and annoyed. 

Izzy swallowed. “The training room can easily house several people at the same time. Else we would all have a lot of trouble staying in shape.” 

Clary stared at her like she couldn’t believe what Izzy was saying. Izzy was tired. She wanted to train and she wasn’t going to stay hiding away from Clary. 

Izzy grabbed some wraps and started wrapping her hands tightly. She turned away from Clary and towards the punching bag. She let her thoughts bleed away into nothingness, into the comfortable rhythm of her fists hitting the leather. 

Clary stayed silent for a while after that, but Izzy could feel her eyes on her regularly. She knew she was watching. She forced herself not to care about it, about the shame and guilt she still felt. She wanted to ask Clary if she’d seen Jace, she wanted to ask her if her mother was okay, since Jocelyn was getting audited by the Clave. She didn’t ask. She forced her mind back to the training every time it strayed away. 

“Are you doing something for your birthday?” Clary asked after a while, and her voice was almost agreeable. 

Izzy raised an eyebrow, falling out of rhythm. “What?” She asked. 

"Today’s your birthday, right?" 

Izzy wondered how she knew it. Or why she cared. Had she checked? Had she heard it from someone? 

"We don’t really celebrate much. I’m too old for presents anyway," Izzy replied, shrugging. 

Nephilim didn’t do birthdays like mundanes did. Clary had probably gotten the mundane version, since she’d gone to school in the mundane world and it would have been strange to not do it. She’d probably gotten cake and presents from her friends, Simon and others, with Jocelyn and Luke looking on, slightly awkward but trying their best to seem mundane.

"That’s weird."

"It isn’t," Izzy shrugged again. "It’s just not how Nephilim do things. If you’d been raised like us, you wouldn’t care for a party." 

Clary looked down, and went back to training too. It was a while before she spoke again. 

"Do you want to spar?" 

Izzy raised an eyebrow. "Spar?" 

"Yes. Staffs, like the last time. We both need the stress relief." 

Izzy huffed at that. Maybe Clary was looking forward to beating her up with a wooden staff for all she’d done. Why not? It would indeed be stress relief, and Izzy desperately needed to think about something other than everything. 

She stopped beating on the punching bag, typed on the tablet for it to disappear back under the floor. Clary did the same with hers and grabbed a staff. Izzy’s whip extended from its bracelet form and she made it harden into her usual staff. 

Clary looked at her, and the fierceness in her eyes made something in Izzy shiver. She was not the one to let herself be intimidated by trainees, but Clary was more than a trainee. She was her friend. She was… She was family. At least Izzy thought it was the best way to describe her.

Her hair was held up in a ponytail with only a couple of stray strands that had probably come undone from her updo while she trained, framing her face. She wore workout leggings, a black sports bra and a cropped tank top. The staff was dark wood and she held it firmer than the last time they’d sparred together. 

Izzy swallowed. She barely had time to get into position when Clary thrust her staff forward, almost in a sword-like motion. Izzy managed to move back. Clary was too fast, her hands slid over her staff as she took a step forward. She flipped it in her hands, the end that was towards her stomach coming to hit Izzy in the jaw, sending her head flying back.

“Fuck,” she groaned, stumbling backwards.

She managed to block Clary’s next thrust. The fierceness and anger in Clary’s hazel-green eyes made Izzy take a step back and reconsider her position. She wasn’t going to go easy. Clary had a deep desire to kick her ass, and Izzy couldn’t let her win so easily. She was still superior in training. 

Holding it in both hands, she raised her staff vertically and blocked Clary’s next hit. Izzy waited for her to give up the block and stepped back preparing for another thrust. When Clary rushed towards her, this time, she was ready. She blocked her thrust, slipped her staff underneath her guard and got her hard on the left side.

Clary groaned in pain and doubled over, a hand on her ribs. 

Unfortunately for her, her state of anger and ache were taking over strategy, and Izzy was able to keep the upper hand until a hit of pure strength sent the staff out of her grip and onto the floor. 

At her great surprise, Clary threw away her staff and lunged forward, shifting to hand-to-hand immediately. Her clumsy lunge was easily dodged, Izzy stepping away and back, observing her. As usual, her left side was pretty uncovered. 

“You should be kind to me,” Izzy chuckled. “It’s my birthday.” 

Clary huffed. “There are many more days of the year for me to be sweet.” 

They regarded each other, observing the way the other moved. Izzy could see the way tension knotted Clary’s shoulders and raised them closer to her face. She needed to relax her body, if she wanted to win a fight. If she locked herself into place, unlocking her limbs would take longer than an enemy would let her. Good thing Izzy wasn’t an enemy. 

She moved forward first, her hand balled into a fist. She wasn’t trying to hurt Clary, but she wanted to win. Clary blocked the hit easily, and then they were both attacking and defending themselves. Clary was putting much more of her body in every hit, but Izzy had grown up fighting. This wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

Izzy managed to get Clary on her left side, hitting her in the shoulder hard enough to send her moving back slightly. Good. She was just catching her breath back up when Clary’s leg flew towards her, aiming for her stomach. She barely avoided it, only moving back at the last minute. 

Clary was better than Izzy had thought at first. Izzy had barely moved back that Clary was attacking again, her body full of anger as she hit Izzy in the chest. It sent her backwards and the redhead took advantage of this, lunging at her again. 

This time, they both ended up on the floor, rolling for a few seconds before getting back up and facing each other. It was a careful dance, but Izzy was starting to tire. She felt the need for the yin fen rising in her. She couldn’t concentrate fully on the fight when her hands threatened to shake if she didn’t focus enough on controlling herself. 

“You can’t do better than that?” Clary taunted a bit, bitter and angry. 

It was nothing like the Clary Izzy was becoming so fond of, but Izzy had betrayed her. Maybe this was the person Clary was with her enemies. Maybe Izzy had crossed that line. 

She was so distracted by this Clary that she noticed too late the hit to her cheek that Clary delivered. It was powerful, not enough that it wouldn’t be healed by an iratze, but Izzy could feel pain blooming as she staggered backwards. 

She deserved this. Still, she had been raised to always seek to win, so she attacked again, but Clary had gained the upper hand now, and it was easy for the other woman to avoid Izzy’s attacks. 

They stood at a standstill for a moment longer, each breathing loudly. They shouldn’t have been an equal match, Izzy was supposed to be better than this. Even Clary in her anger had noticed Izzy’s weakness, and she was planning on taking advantage of it. 

It happened in an instant. One moment, they were facing each other, a meter separating them as they moved slowly, the next Clary was on Izzy, throwing her to the ground with a surprising strength. The way Clary had hit Izzy behind the knees with her heels wasn’t proper hand to hand regulation, but it was effective in a fight, that much could be said. 

Izzy fell to the ground, but she managed to drag Clary with her. The redhead ended straddling her, panting heavily as she kept glaring at her.

Izzy tried to move and throw her off but Clary held on, grabbing her wrists and pinning her down. The dark-haired woman could feel her cheeks heating up under Clary’s smoldering gaze. 

She swallowed heavily, her eyes trying to find somewhere to settle that wasn’t Clary’s flushed and gorgeous face, or her heaving chest. Unsurprisingly, it was incredibly hard to find a focus point. 

“I’m sorry,” Izzy whispered, giving up on avoiding her gaze. Clary was still visibly mad, but she also seemed less… intense than before. Her anger was blurring with other feelings and Izzy didn’t want to think about what those were. 

Clary’s pupils were blown wide by the exercise and Izzy couldn’t help but notice how close they were. She could see the light imperfections in Clary’s skin, the gold sparks in her irises. 

“Let me go?” Izzy asked, her voice strangely strangled. 

Clary seemed to hesitate for a moment before she let go of her hands and sat back. 

Within seconds, she was off of her and walking away, barely looking at her. Izzy needed a bit longer to get back from the floor. She exhaled, gathering her senses back before she sat up. Checking the time, she realized it was time for her to get to work. Birthday or not, work always happened.

Clary was back to punching the punching bag. Izzy looked at her before leaving, her red hair and her angry eyes. She hadn’t really wanted to know what it was like to be on that side of Clary’s anger. 

She needed to explain herself. She was going to have to tell her about the yin fen. She was going to have to risk losing her forever. Jace could always come out of the City of Bones, but if Izzy told Clary about the yin fen… Clary could tell Alec, and everyone else. People would know she was one of those broken addicted people, and she was going to die, in the attic of the Sanatorium. Alone.

_ \-------------- _

_ “I promise I’ll be back home soon.” _

_ Izzy shouldn’t have heard that. Maybe she should have turned away, walked back, not listened to her father on the phone. Maybe she shouldn’t have been this nosy.  _

_ She stood there, at the corner of the corridor, watching as Robert talked to someone on the phone, his back turned to Izzy. He was talking in a low, conspiratorial type of voice, but not low enough that Izzy couldn’t hear every word.  _

_ She would rather not have heard anything.  _

_ “I have to be with her and the kids, you know how it is,” Robert added. He sounded incredibly bored, and Izzy wanted to cry. _

_ Her dad never seemed to be bored of them, he always seemed happy to be in the Institute, and to be with the family. How much of this was an act? Izzy knew her parents didn’t have the best of relationships, they seemed very cold towards each other sometimes, but so were most of her friends’ parents. _

_ Nephilim weren’t very affectionate, not in public at least. She’d thought that was it.  _

_ “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I miss you too.”  _

_ Sweetheart? Izzy swallowed, taking a small step back. Her dad never called anyone sweetheart, not even her. Who was he talking to?  _

_ She’d heard from her friends that some of their dads loved women that weren’t their moms, and that they saw their lovers in secret. She’d thought that it was horrible, a monstrous act of breaking the promise of the Wedded Union Rune. She’d thought that her parents would never do that. _

_ That certitude was gone now. She wanted to hope that her father wasn’t talking to his lover on the phone, saying that he missed her and wanted to go back to Alicante, to that woman and that place he called home that wasn’t the Institute. _

_ Finally, Izzy managed to step back again. Her body felt like it unlocked and she started running back to her room, trying not to cry in the corridor. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t let anyone know the shameful thing her father did.  _

_ Did her mom know? No, probably not. Maryse would never let it happen if she knew, she would never let herself stay with him if he was unfaithful, right?  _

_ Izzy didn’t know anything anymore. She’d always thought of her parents as this unmovable duo, an unbreakable team that were quite hard on them, but there nonetheless. She thought she wouldn’t be like the other girls whose fathers cheated.  _

_ How could they stand next to each other? How could her father not tell her mother, and pretend that he loved his family still? She didn’t understand.  _

_ Nothing made sense, and nothing was sacred anymore.  _

  
  


_ \--------------- _

“Can I talk to you?” 

Clary looked up from the notepad she was scribbling on. Izzy stood in the doorway, looking at the other woman with an awkward shift. She had to tell her despite the way the cravings and anxiety curled into her bones and made her hands shake a little.

If Clary rejected her apology and explanation, Izzy would have to stop counting her as her friend. Which meant she only had Alec on her side, now that she’d betrayed Jace as well. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” Clary replied, putting down her notepad suddenly and turning a dark eye towards Izzy.

Izzy swallowed. “Just… hear me out. I can’t deal with this situation anymore.” 

“Fine, just… be quick about it,” Clary huffed, and Izzy knew she was thinking about it being Izzy’s fault that she was in this situation in the first place. It was. But she still needed to explain to Clary what was going on.

Izzy walked to the bed and sat not far from Clary, taking in a big breath. Clary stayed silent, waiting for her to speak. She wasn’t going to let her have some small talk before they got into the hard topic. Fine.

Izzy intertwined her own fingers and started, her eyes staring away from the red-haired woman and onto the patterns of the bedsheets. 

“You remember how I was injured by Valentine when he took Jace away?” Izzy asked, and she didn’t wait for an answer - or even a nod - from Clary. “The injury wouldn’t heal correctly. It kept hurting, when it should have been healing with runes very quickly. I found out there had been demon venom on Valentine’s blade. And that it was keeping me from healing correctly.”

She was glad her shoulder wasn’t hurting as much as it had been almost a month ago. Maybe the yin fen had helped, maybe not, but she didn’t want to feel that again, ever. 

“You told me that,” Clary replied. “Are you gonna blame the demon venom for making you turn in Jace? Did it control your mind or something?” She asked, voice harsh. Izzy could almost hear her eyes rolling.

Izzy sighed, and ignored Clary’s comment, continuing on with her story. “Aldertree noticed I was in pain when we were training and I told you about the shape-shifting rune. He called me into his office and offered me something called yin fen. It would help me heal… and he’d let me go back into the field and help.” 

This time, when she stopped, Clary raised an eyebrow at her, urging her to get to the point of the tale instead of interrupting her. Maybe she was a little more curious now. 

“When we were trying to get Jace to safety… I ran out of yin fen. And the pain was back again, pretty badly, and I couldn’t be useful anymore, so I went to Aldertree. And he refused to give me more of what could help me, unless I brought Jace in.”

Izzy looked down. She realized she was crying when she felt the tears on her cheeks. She was so  _ ashamed _ . She knew she should have been stronger, both when she’d originally been offered yin fen, and after. 

“It was being in pain and not being able to help… or betraying my brother,” Izzy finished, and reached to wipe away her tears. She felt so stupid and pathetic in that very moment. “I made a choice. It was a bad choice, I should have chosen Jace but… I wasn’t thinking straight. I was only thinking of not being in pain.” 

“Why didn’t you just ask the medics in the infirmary for more?” Clary asked, seemingly skeptical about this story. Izzy could understand why. Without the specific details of what yin fen truly was, it didn’t make sense.

“Yin fen isn’t available in the infirmary… it’s more of an experimental treatment. Aldertree had some because he was a field medic with a high clearance… Asking for some in the infirmary wouldn’t lead anywhere.” The only place it would lead her was into the Sanatorium, with everyone else who was using yin fen. That couldn’t happen. Ever. The Lightwoods would never recover from it. And neither would Izzy.

Clary was looking at her now, fully, without the burning hatred that had left a trail of fire on Izzy since she’d come back to the Institute after arresting Jace.

“You did make the wrong choice,” Clary replied. “But… I can kinda see why you made it.” 

Izzy shook her head. “I just want you to know… that I didn’t just sell him to the Clave easily. He’s my brother… I hate myself for doing this to him. He deserves so much better than this… than me.” 

Clary shifted to take her hand, and Izzy stopped breathing for a second. “I understand. I’m… still mad,” she pointed out, chuckling a tiny bit. “But… I can see you… had your reasons. And that you do… care about what you did. You do feel bad.” 

Izzy looked down. She was still crying, unable to stop herself. She snorted in a breath, trying to calm herself, but failing a little. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled. “I should have been stronger.” 

Clary sighed. “I’m not the one you have to say sorry to, Iz’. That’s Jace.” 

  
  


_ \--------------- _

_ She knew Alec was waiting in the ceremony room, anxious as he could be in moments of solemnity. She knew she should be facing him, standing across from him and letting the fire draw a circle around them. She knew she shouldn’t give up on him, just because it seemed like people always gave up on each other eventually. _

_ She was scared. She was scared that, in a few years, they would come to resent each other, come to the point where they wanted to be apart rather than together. She was scared that he would do like her dad, choose someone that wasn’t her. _

_ The situation was different, because this wasn’t romantic love, this wasn’t a marriage. But it was still a covenant. It was written that way in all the books that spoke of parabatai bonds. It was a covenant between two warriors, in front of their peers, their ancestors and the Angel himself.  _

_ She knew the story of Jonathan and David by heart, the first Parabatai pair, and the excruciating pain of breaking the bond. She knew the story of Will Herondale and James Carstairs, a story told through the Lightwoods, a story told to her by her grandmother when she’d told her of her desire to be Alec’s parabatai. _

_ They worked together, amazingly well, but… for how long? Would Alec grow bored in a decade? Would she?  _

_ Izzy sat on the stairs in front of the Institute, and watched the mundanes walk by. They always seemed so… serene. They didn’t have to deal with soul bonds or ceremonies and traditions, that was for sure. They didn’t have to think about whether or not they would like to spend their lives tied to someone else. _

_ She sighed and rested her head against her crossed arms. She wanted to be Alec’s parabatai, more than she’d ever wanted anything. She loved fighting with him, she loved being by his side, but… People weren’t faithful. _

_ The mundane blood in her veins was faillible and weak, made her and Alec vulnerable to baser instincts, less angelic qualities such as unfaithfulness. She didn’t want her relationship to Alec to be the same as her parents’ relationship.  _

_ She didn’t want him to betray their covenant the way her dad betrayed the promise he’d made her mom over fifteen years ago.  _

_ Footsteps resounded behind her and she kept her head down. Someone sat next to her. _

_ “I knew you’d be here,” Jace said, his voice cracking a little.  _

_ Izzy huffed. “Go away. I need to think.”  _

_ “He’s waiting for you,” the blonde teenager reminded her. “In the ceremony room.” _

_ “I always thought he’d be the one with cold feet.”  _

_ Izzy hadn’t expected the steadiness of Alec’s steps once he’d decided he wanted them to be parabatai. She’d thought he would overthink, but that was her role, it seemed. Alec was steady and certain and once he chose, he didn’t hesitate.  _

_ “What are you afraid of?” Jace asked quietly.  _

_ Izzy swallowed. She wouldn’t tell him what she’d overheard. She couldn’t. Jace needed the illusion of a perfect, steady and unbreakable family. He needed to feel safe. Telling him about the infidelity, about the woman on the other side of the phone, would be telling him the family could explode and he could be alone again.  _

_ “What if we regret it?” Izzy asked back. “What if, in ten years, we don’t want this bond anymore? What if we grow bored of each other, what if we betray each other?” _

_ Commitment wasn’t sacred. Not anymore. _

_ “You can always break the bond.” _

_ Izzy gasped, looking at her brother with wide, shocked eyes. “You can’t say stuff like that!” _

_ “Why?”  _

_ “Parabatai bonds are sacred covenants. They are for life, or nothing at all. Like marriage. Like our bond to the Angel, and the war we fight in His name,” Izzy replied, wrapping her arms closer around herself. “You can’t break a promise like that. It’s wrong. Besides, only death or the Silent Brotherhood can break a Parabatai bond.” _

_ “I guess…” Jace hummed. “I guess then it’s not worth the risk, right? Why do it, if there is no way out?” _

_ “Because… because I love fighting with Alec. And I love Alec. And… being his parabatai would be the best thing in the world. I can’t imagine the future any other way…” Izzy admitted. _

_ Jace looked at her with a smile. “He feels the same way, you know? He doesn’t talk about it much, he’s not that kind of person but… When you train together, he always smiles, even when you kick his ass.”  _

_ Izzy couldn’t help but grin.  _

_ “You’ll make it work,” Jace added. “The two of you, your bond already grows deep. You’re already close. Whatever it is that make parabatai bonds so special, they are relationships like any other, and I think… I think you two will work for your bond. Even if you stumble upon issues.”  _

_ “Maybe…” Izzy whispered.  _

_ “People can do and undo relationships, whatever they are. If you’re both willing to work for it… for each other… Why would it go wrong?” _

_ Izzy looked at Jace. He seemed much wiser today than he usually was. Or maybe he just knew her, knew what to say to her.  _

_ Maybe it was worth it, indeed. Maybe Alec and she could be stronger than Robert and Maryse, stronger even than Jonathan and David. They could make it work. For each other.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 9, the first part of Day of Wrath!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	9. Day of Wrath Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> We're back on our regular programing of Shadowhunters rewriting! Today we're diving into 2x04: Day of Wrath!
> 
> A pretty intense episode.... makes for pretty intense chapters!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The wooded cemetery wasn’t a place Clary would have walked into two months ago. It was the old kind of resting place where tombstones were askew and the age knots in the trunks of trees looked like the faces of those buried beneath their branches.

Clary was finishing her patrol. It wasn’t her first, but it had been a tiring one. Her superior, the other Shadowhunter that had accompanied her, had let her wander into the cemetery and visit the City of Bones. 

The doorway was a bit hard to find, but she’d been given directions. She walked almost in a straight line from the entrance of the cemetery to a specific part of the surrounding wall, stepping out of the paths almost immediately. 

Her heels dug a little into the moist ground. They would be hell to clean afterwards. She hoped the Silent Brothers wouldn’t be annoyed at her for dragging in mud. There was no little carpet for her to get her soles clean on. 

A part of her felt like she was being watched and she probably was. She imagined the Silent Brothers had ways to know who was presenting themselves at the gates of their realms. Or maybe she felt watched because paranoia was starting to dig its claws into her. 

Izzy’s betrayal, however justified by the yin fen, had been a brutal reminder that she could not, under any circumstances, trust anyone. Even those who positioned themselves as friends, or more. They would betray her, and sentence her brother to a fate maybe worse than death. 

The doorway to the City of Bones looked absolutely benign. It was just a weird little doorway, with a fenced gate, and it seemed to hold absolutely nothing in its depths. Only a Shadowhunter with the Sight could see the Rune engraved into the side of the wall. 

Clary’d been taught that this specific Rune was called the Technique rune. She didn’t really understand the name, since it was used as a locking or unlocking rune, somewhat like a Nephili lock and key. 

The key there, was herself. She pressed her hand against the rune and felt it activate her angel blood. She wondered still if Shadowhunters raised in the Clave could feel their angel blood the way she did. She felt it like a slightly burning power, and she could feel when it was activated. The rush of energy was unmistakable. It had gotten slightly duller as the number of runes she had drawn on grew, and maybe that was why people like Izzy or Jace didn’t seem to feel it. 

She withdrew her hand and the rune shone hot red. A bright flash of light enveloped the gate, and the iron fence disappeared. Great winds seemed to be rushing through the opening now and she felt compelled to move forward and follow the winds. 

She took a deep breath. Her last trip to the City of Bones had been relatively okay, if you didn’t count the pain of the memory extraction or the discovery of her true father’s identity. 

She stepped through the gate and a few feet further. The doorway closed again behind her, the light disappeared, and she took a second to adjust to the darkness around her and the sudden loss of the brightness. It danced for a few seconds behind her eyelids, before she was able to really take in where she was. 

Bones everywhere. On little pedestals, on little walls, on the floor, the side of the staircase she was on was lined with stray bones and skulls. The bones of her ancestors, Clary guessed. She had a part in this big cycle of death. She didn’t know exactly how to feel about that. 

She took a few steps down the stairs before stopping. Something - someone - was screaming in the distance. The pain and sorrow was unimaginable. It washed over her suddenly, with the concentrated magical power of the City of Bones. Her hair rose on her body, a shiver ran down her spine.

She felt like screaming too. She didn’t. She bit her lip and moved forward.

The staircases from then on had no railing. If she fell, she fell into a void blurry with a greenish smoke. Her body would never be found. 

It wasn’t too late to turn around. For a moment, she considered it, just walking away. No one would ever know she hadn’t exactly been down  _ into _ the City of Bones. The energy, the screaming, the strength of it all, it was terrifying. It was terrifying, and she was only a visitor. 

Jace was down there. 

He was down there and he couldn’t just walk back out if it was too much to take. The least she could do was go see him. Be strong for him. For her big brother.

She didn’t know if she had her mind entirely wrapped around that yet. In all honesty, Clary was just pushing through every revelation and she’d think about it when she had time for that. She had things to do before that. 

She started walking down the stairs. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn heels.

It felt like hours and seconds at the same time as she found her way down the stairs to corridors she had seen before. Or at least she thought she had seen them before. The City of Bones was a maze that seemed designed to trick the minds of those who weren’t Silent Brothers. 

She finished her descent and started walking through a corridor. There she saw what she’d been searching for. The statue of Raziel holding the Mortal Instruments was standing in the middle of a circular room. Unless there was another statue like this one in the City of Bones, then she was in the main area. 

The bones there were much more organized than they had been next to the entrance. They were artistically fixed to the walls in patterns that were both beautiful and morbid. 

Clary stepped towards the statue a little more. There seemed to be no one else there. 

The flames of the torches on the walls and the candles in the candelabra flickered, and the light that came from them flickered, casting moving shadows on the stone everywhere. 

She felt a presence, suddenly, as if it had just appeared at her back. 

_ What is your business here, Shadowhunter? _ The voice entered her mind without warning and she jumped slightly, as if it was going to do anything about getting it out of her head. 

She turned around, and a Silent Brother was standing there, close. Too close. She’d almost forgotten the upsetting sight of eyes and mouth sewn shut, and the marks scarred into Silent Brothers’ faces. The torch he was carrying made it even more nightmarish. 

She swallowed, uneasy, and straightened up. “I need to see Jace Wayland.” Her voice was much steadier than she’d expected it to be, faced with that man. If he could still be called a man. 

The Silent Brother seemed to stare at her for a moment, unmoving. She didn’t know exactly what was going on. She couldn’t see his eyes, and his face didn’t move, even with emotion. It was like a mask of wax with the features of a human. 

After a long silent moment, the Silent Brother nodded, and started walking. He didn’t tell her to follow him. She hoped following him was what she was expected to do. She did not want to ever find herself fighting against these people. They were too… imbued with angelic magic, their humanity lost under it all. 

The second his closed eyes weren’t in her direction, she exhaled. She didn’t know she had been holding her breath until then. Quietly, she followed him into another corridor. 

As they walked, the screams got louder. 

The Silent Brother walked slowly, heavily, with perfect symmetry and rhythm. It made Clary feel small and clumsy, loud and messy. She followed him, looking behind herself sometimes, knowing there was no way she would find her way back alone. She would need help. She hoped the Silent Brother would stick in the vicinity of the cell. 

They turned into another corridor. The atmosphere was heavy, but she had no desire to start a conversation to make the silence go. She didn’t want to do anything to annoy the Silent Brother. 

The corridor was now lined with cell doors. They were made of metal bars. She swallowed. Jace was in one of those. She was too busy thinking about that, and she didn’t see the person inside of the cell she was walking by move. 

He came out of the shadows, arm shooting in between metal bars and trying to grab her. She gasped and took a step to the side, startled. The man in the cell looked at her with eyes filled with despair. He grabbed at the air in front of her, skin and hair dirty, clothing torn. 

“Please,” he begged. “Get me out of here. Please.” 

She almost took a step forward, but the voice resounded in her head again. The Silent Brother had stopped his walk to Jace’s cell and was looking at her. Or at least she believed he was looking at her. 

_ Pay no heed to their desperation _ , The Silent Brother said.  _ They all deserve to be here. Infractions against the Clave do not go unpunished. _

What had this one done? The dark-haired man with crazy eyes who seemed to now be sobbing, curled up against the metal bars, almost pushing his body through them. What had he done to deserve this fate?

The Silent Brother did not leave her time to ask questions. He just kept walking forward, and she could only follow. Jace was only a cell away. The Silent Brother stopped in front of it and she looked. 

He stood in the shadows like the other man had. His face was closed off, his hair and clothing were dirty. They had not let him change since he’d been arrested. Clary could see something was wrong, but he thankfully did not have the same begging, desperate look in his eyes as she’d seen in the other prisoner. 

“Jace,” she whispered and he blinked. He did not move forward.

“You shouldn't have come here,” Jace said to the Silent Brother who had almost disappeared into the shadows himself. “Take her out.”

“No,” she replied. She turned around. The Silent Brother was uncomfortably close again. She turned back towards Jace and stared at him, taking a step towards the bars of the cell. “I'm not going anywhere…” she started. “Until… until I know you're gonna be okay.”

Jace stayed still and watched her quietly. He looked… suspicious. Aloof. He stayed silent for a while, before shifting on his feet. He did not move forward. 

“Are they… is everyone okay?” 

Clary knew Izzy had yet to come and visit him. She was eaten by guilt, and Clary could understand why. From what she knew, Izzy and Jace had been close. The yin fen had come between that. 

“Everyone’s alright,” Clary replied. She tried to find something else to say about how the rest of the Lightwoods were, how things were going at the Institute, or how their mom was, but she couldn’t. She opened her mouth again, and sighed. “Jace, I feel terrible. You're here because of me. If I hadn't fallen under Dot's spell-” 

Jace closed the distance between him and the cell door in a second, and looked at her. He stared at her right in the eyes and all she could feel was pain. He looked exhausted, and sad. His wrist was still bandaged from the wolf bite. There were cuts and bruises all over his face, and Clary couldn’t tell if all of them had been there before his arrest or not. It was all her fault.

“You're not what put me here, Clary,” Jace said. He kept his voice soft and reassuring. It was unfair that he had to be the one being strong right now. “I have to pay for my actions.” He was so certain that he belonged here, being tortured and begging to get out. It  _ hurt _ her. 

“Not by yourself,” she whispered. “I have to share the blame, and the sentence. I wasn’t strong enough to resist Dot and you’re paying the consequences. You went on that kidnapping mission to spare  _ me _ . I have to help you,” she rambled, fingers wrapping against the humid metal bars and moving closer. “What can I do to help? Please, tell me. I will do anything.”

She shifted her hand from the metal to his own. He closed his eyes for a moment. She hoped he was thinking of her offer.

“You can stay away from me.” His tone was final and she almost screamed at that. 

She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. She tried to grab his hand more but he moved back, moved away.

“What?” 

Jace looked in pain as he opened his mouth again, crossing his arms, and looking at her. “No matter what happens, never come near me again.”

It didn’t make sense. After all this time, after the realisation they were family, that finally, they had someone else in the world that was with them… Jace had wanted to know his family for years and now he was pushing her away. 

“Jace, what are you talking about?” Clary replied, and she felt a bit of anger. She was mostly incredulous. “You're my family.”

“No,” he looked at her again, stared at her, and she could feel his resolution. She didn’t agree with it, but he believed what he was doing what was right. “I am Valentine's weapon. You think he's just gonna let me go?” He added. His voice was getting louder, more vehement. “He knows that you…. That you're my weakness. He saw it on the ship, when I went for Gretel to protect you. If I ever get out of here, he'll come after you again.” 

Clary grabbed at the metal bars again, pressing herself closer, trying to get closer to him. If she could grab him and shake some sense into him, she would. 

“Let him,” she replied. “I'm not afraid. We'll fight him off together!”

He shook his head and retreated more in the shadows. “Jace!”

It seemed to be enough for him to snap. He stopped looking at her and turned to the Silent Brother who was still watching them. “We're done here.” His tone was final. 

“No,” she said again. This time, the Silent Brother didn’t listen to her. She felt his cold hand on her shoulder, and she was pulled back. She couldn’t fight. She could feel tears in her eyes and she didn’t know if it was sadness or anger that had brought them up.

“Jace, please,” she begged. “Jace!”

The Silent Brother grabbed her, just as Jace was muttering a goodbye that sounded too final, too violent. She shouted his name again as she was dragged away, against her will, fighting weakly against someone much stronger than her.

She was losing him again. She couldn’t deal with that. 

\-----------

Alec smiled a little as he watched Magnus walk out of Aldertree’s office. Magnus sighed heavily and leaned against the wall for a minute, before rolling his eyes, obviously in the middle of an intense conversation with himself. 

Alec took a couple of steps in his direction. “How'd it go with Aldertree?” 

Magnus was a little startled by that, it seemed, but he soon broke into a slightly tired smile. They started walking towards the ops room. 

“Well, the man didn't disappoint,” Magnus replied. His voice was as tired as he looked, and Alec felt a bit guilty for making him go through all of that. “He has heard that  _ I  _ was planning to harbor a Clave fugitive. In his own charming, inimitable way, he informed me that the Clave will indeed be investigating that and my connection to said fugitive.”

Alec winced. “That’s our fault. We should have never gotten you involved.” 

Magnus nodded. “Thank you for recognizing that. But it’s all fine. It is far from my first rodeo with bogus Clave justice. I’ll have no issue.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Magnus chuckled. “Yes. Thank you for worrying,” he replied. “How is Jace?”

Alec felt a headache bloom behind his temples at that very moment. Jace was in the City of Bones, and Angel only knew the state he would be in when he came out of there. Jace wasn’t the most balanced person. Alec loved him, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Jace wasn’t the healthiest. 

Being raised by Valentine had drilled things deep into his psyche that, in the decade they’d spent together, the Lightwoods hadn’t managed to help him undo. The City of Bones was not rumored to do great things for the mental health of prisoners. Especially not the ones arrested for High Treason. 

“He’ll be back soon,” Alec said as they turned from the corridor onto the metal bridge on the side of the ops room, and walked down the couple of stairs. “Once his hand touches the Soul-Sword, the truth will come out and prove that he's never been on Valentine's side.” His voice was firm, and he was trying to be sure of what he was saying. Even if it was almost impossible not to doubt. 

Magnus stayed relatively silent next to him, and Alec didn’t know what to add. Magnus had helped them so much. With everything. He would probably help them even more. Alec still couldn’t believe he’d taken him for granted that way. Their relationship was so young and he already felt like it had been there forever. A mix of that, and some ingrained ideas about warlocks’ supposed willingness to obey all orders, as long as there was payment. 

“Look, um,” Alec started, stopping in the middle of the hallway that led to the permanent portal to Idris and to the door. “I know that with everything that's been going on, I - We haven't had a chance to -” 

“Go on that first date we never had?” 

Alec sighed a little, smiling. He could feel his own smile be more relaxed. Magnus seemed to know what he was thinking. That was a relief. Alec had never been in a relationship before. He’d had some sort of half-baked thing with some woman, but it had never felt like this. It had never felt… nerve-wracking. And Alec had never felt anxious of making a mistake. 

He’d felt anxious of somehow making her aware that he preferred men to her. He hadn’t felt anxious about losing the relationship. And Magnus made him feel that way, somewhat. Magnus made him want to get it right. And he made his hands a little moist. 

“Right, yes,” Alec smiled.

Magnus seemed perfectly happy and relaxed. A wide, almost giddy smile curved his lips and Alec almost kissed him. If there hadn’t been all these people around them, all these Shadowhunters, he would have kissed him. 

“I know a place in SoHo that has the best lamb kebab this side of Marrakesh,” Magnus said excitedly. Alec couldn’t help the wider smile that stretched his previous one. “Or we can portal to Marrakesh. You hungry?” 

“Starving,” he replied, grinning. He felt… right. He felt like he was on a cloud and nothing could ever bring him down. 

“Hey, Alec,” Raj called out and Alec had a small frustrated groan, looking away from Magnus for a second. The dark-skinned man was standing at the door way. “Demon briefing in the ops center. All hands on deck.”

Ugh. Work. Alec did not want that. He did not want that at all. He wanted to go to Marrakech with Magnus and eat lamb kebabs and come back to New York and make out on his couch and maybe even fall asleep there. 

Magnus gently touched his arm and Alec sighed softly. 

“Rain check?” Magnus asked. His voice was soft, and it was full of promise. Alec hated that he had to go right now, but he knew their first date would happen. Eventually. Maybe when the world stopped going against them for one minute. 

“Yes, yeah,” Alec muttered. “Is that okay?” 

Magnus nodded. His smile was softer, less excited, now. “You go battle your demons,” he whispered. “I'll go battle mine.” 

Cryptic. Alec sensed they were done with their conversation so he bid Magnus goodbye and walked away, towards the ops center. When he looked back, Magnus was walking out of the Institute, the door closing behind him.

\----------------

Clary was glad to be home. The Institute was busy as usual and as long as she avoided Aldertree, she was fine. She’d been called into the ops center like everyone else. She liked that. She liked feeling like she was part of the team. She didn’t feel like she ever would. 

She liked her routine here, even if it was completely removed from her old life, even if she couldn’t see herself evolving in this world, living her life like this. For now, the routine was comforting. It kept her sane in the insanity of her new everyday life. 

She kept thinking about Jace, and the way he’d acted. She couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal that was resurfacing again. Jace was her brother, but he was pushing her away like he didn’t want to be part of her family. She guessed she could understand it partly. Having her as a sister meant having Valentine as a father. And Jocelyn as a mother. 

Clary still had some issues reconciling the Jocelyn she remembered from her childhood with the one she’d gotten to know the past few weeks. They were two different people. Or maybe two sides of the same coin. Her childhood mom had been very protective, sometimes even too much. The Shadowhunter version of Jocelyn would kill to protect her. 

Speak of the devil… 

“Oh, Clary. I've been looking all over for you.”

Clary couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She could have just texted her. Her patrol schedule was on her file accessible to everyone as well. And she’d requested the authorisation to visit the City of Bones. All of the things she’d done had a paper trail, because the Clave was as much of a bureaucratic mess as the rest of the world’s organizations. 

Clary was going to walk past her, but Jocelyn grabbed her arm. “I heard you went to see Jace. Is he all right?”

Clary rolled her eyes at that. Jocelyn had been a Shadowhunter for years before running away with Clary, she had to know what it was like down there, for anyone that wasn’t a Silent Brother. She had to know the feeling of pressure, the weight of the power on someone’s mind. She had to know what happened to the prisoners.

“He's locked up in the City of Bones. How do you  _ think _ he's doing?” Clary snapped. She didn’t care if Jocelyn was hurt. If she wanted to see how Jace was doing, she just had to go there herself. 

Jocelyn looked thoughtful and sad for a moment and Clary rolled her eyes again. They had better things to do. A demon attack that required all personnel on deck, for example. “Look, we're late for this briefing, so can we just-” 

“Clary, wait,” Jocelyn interrupted. She looked ready to unveil a secret, and Clary was really hoping that an aunt she had never heard about wasn’t a serial killer. “There's something I have to tell you.”

“Well do it quickly then,” Clary mumbled, crossing her arms. 

Jocelyn sighed and looked around them for a second before taking a step closer to her daughter. “The Clave is reassigning me to Idris.”

Clary opened her mouth and closed it again. Idris was on the other side of the planet. Not only that, but it would mean not seeing Jocelyn again for a while. Clary was mad at her mom, she was incredibly angry, but Jocelyn was around and she was thankful for that. She remembered how hard it had been to get her back. And a part of her wanted to get to know this different version of her mother. She wanted to get to know who Jocelyn really was as a Shadowhunter. 

“What? Why?” Clary asked, a bit more softly than she’d intended. 

Jocelyn sighed, crossing her arms as well. “There are so many reasons. I'm Valentine's ex-wife. I was his right hand through a lot of the Circle’s biggest horrors. Then, I hid the Cup for 18 years, instead of giving it to the Clave. They're testing my loyalty.”

Clary huffed. “But the Clave has to know that you're not on Valentine's side. I mean, would you have ran away with me and the Cup if you were on his side? Didn’t you betray him enough for them to realize you’re not with him? Just tell them you'll prove your loyalty here.”

Jocelyn had a small smile. “You’re so sweet,” she said softly, and reached to touch Clary’s hair a little. Clary didn’t move away. “The Clave doesn’t leave a Shadowhunter a choice. I wish it were up to me.”

Clary sighed softly and looked down. “I don’t want you to go.” 

“I know, baby. I don’t want to be away from you either. But it’s either I follow the orders I’ve been given or I run again, and go back into hiding. And I’ve done enough running.” 

“But… I just got you back.” Clary whispered. She felt small again. She felt like a child being dropped off at school for the first time. It was stupid, because these last few days, she’d told herself she hated her mom for everything she’d done, to Jace and to her. 

“I know. That's why I want you to come with me.”

“Move to Idris?” Clary shook her head, instinctively. She couldn’t. She had a family here. She had Jace, a brother she’d just found. She had Izzy and Alec, even if their relationship was messy. And Simon. Simon who was a vampire now and needed her. She couldn’t just leave them behind. But she also didn’t want her mother to leave. 

“I know it's a big change,” Jocelyn said softly. “I know you’ve spent the last couple of months building a home here. But I could finally show you where you come from. And we'd have a fresh start… Together.”

The idea was… it was tempting. Clary did want to see Idris one day, and to see things from her family. She guessed there was maybe a family home in Idris, and some relatives she could meet. It would fill in a whole lot of blanks in her mind. 

Heels clacking against the floors resounded shortly before Izzy and Alec showed up in the corridor. 

“Demon attack downtown. One mundane dead,” Izzy said. She had switched to work mode, it seemed. Clary had started noticing that happening in her. Alec didn’t have the same switch, it seemed like he was always very serious. 

“And we don't have Jace, so…” Alec said. He took a deep breath. “You're with us.” He seemed genuinely unhappy to be saying those words. A part of Clary jubilated at that. 

“Wait,” she said once it dawned on her what it meant. “You want me on your team?” 

Izzy had a small smile as Alec sighed. It was like he was getting his teeth pulled out of his mouth. “It's not my first choice, but we're a man down, and everyone else is on patrol,” he explained. “We’re leaving in 5. Gear up.” 

He pushed past Clary and Jocelyn. Izzy was left behind. Clary and her exchanged a look. Maybe Alec was unhappy but it would be nice to have a real work day. Clary could see more of what Izzy and Alec’s jobs were in the field, other than patrols and demon killing. 

Izzy turned to Jocelyn with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece,” she said before taking Clary’s hand and pulling her towards the armory and the ops room. Clary nodded at her mom and followed. 

When they arrived at the armory, Alec was already done gearing up. He had his usual holster on, with the seraph blade, and that was it. They weren’t expecting a big confrontation it seemed. Else he would have taken his bow. 

Izzy went to get her holster as well, and Clary imitated her. Izzy was always armed with her whip though, it never left her arm. The bow and the whip were signature weapons. That was something Clary had learned relatively quickly. Some Shadowhunters had weapons other than the standard seraph blade. Clary wondered what hers would be if she became a fully-fledged Shadowhunter. Her file still read Shadowhunter-in-training. 

They suited up quickly and moved to the garage of the Institute. Since Shadowhunters didn’t portal, they had some means of transportation other than their feet and subway cards to get to crime scenes. 

The three of them got into a black van without any logo on the door. None of the cars or bikes or trucks there had any logo, she noticed. Probably because the Institute was pretty illegal. 

Alec was behind the wheel and Izzy was in the side between Alec and Clary. They were going to get stuck in the New York traffic. Fun. Did Shadowhunters listen to the radio? 

The following time spent in the van with the Lightwoods taught her that no, they didn’t listen to the radio as they drove. Maybe Izzy did, but Alec was so serious and stern that Clary came to doubt if he ever had some fun. She knew he did, but she still had a doubt.

They arrived on the crime scene quicker than Clary had expected. Probably because of some sort of magic in the van? She didn’t know. She didn’t really know if she had the mental capacity for asking right now. 

Luke was already at the scene and Clary had a sigh of relief when she saw him. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, since the Jace debacle, and she went to give him a quick hug. 

“Did mom tell you?” Clary asked, once they’d talked about how they were, the weather, etc. 

“Tell me what?” Luke replied, looking around the scene. 

The body was lying on a pile of trash bags. The white sweater he was wearing made the darkness of the blood and the hole in his chest even worse to look at. Clary wasn’t gagging, but she wasn’t really comfortable. She couldn’t understand the ease with which Izzy grabbed her bag of supplies and walked to the corpse, ready to get to work. 

“The Clave assigned her to Idris. She wants me to go with her,” she explained. 

If the look on Luke’s face was anything to go by, Jocelyn hadn’t told him yet. Oops. Clary was about to explain some more but Alec interrupted them. After all, they had work to do.

“We’re gonna let Izzy work and look around for some more evidence, and maybe the demon,” Alec explained. “Keep your blades ready and your eyes open.” 

He walked away from her and started working. Clary turned around and nodded at Luke. He looked thoughtful as he nodded back and let her get to work. 

They looked around for a while, but could find nothing. Luke had to leave them to deal with the mundane police. They had been warned about the dead body and were coming to look at it. It was his job to deal with that. Clary could see the usefulness of it. 

Izzy sighed as she finished taking the last of the samples from the corpse. “Well, this is one nasty demon. Punched a hole right through his chest.” 

It was the first time she had to work on that kind of corpse, but it wasn’t too daunting. A corpse was a corpse, a demon was a demon. The only time demons were really something to worry greatly about was when they were especially powerful, when they were many, or when they were Greater Demons.

“With that kind of strength, I doubt it's done yet,” Luke added. 

Since the demon was really strong and powerful, it meant that it was unlikely it would stop at one victim. This could be worrying. It meant they had little time to actually get the demon under control. Having it out in the open was especially dangerous when it would kill again.

Alec walked up towards Luke and her. “Nothing in the immediate area, not even ichor.” 

“So the demon might have a host,” Izzy mumbled. “Alive. Walking around, ready to kill more.” She stood up and closed up the box of samples, taking off her gloves. “We're taking the body back to the Institute. I'll run some tests to see what kind of demon we're dealing with.” It would give Clary and Alec something to look for. 

Alec nodded. “Clary and I will widen the perimeter.” Izzy started walking towards the van again to get the supplies to get the corpse back to the Institute. 

“Hey, Fray!” Alec called out and Clary looked up from the pile of unknown but not ichor liquid that was in front of her and smelling cross. “We got a demon to hunt. Come on.”

Clary rolled her eyes at his shortness but said nothing. She followed him towards the street corner. He was walking fast. Or maybe he wasn’t, but Alec was much taller than she was, and his legs were much longer than hers. It made her run behind him as he walked. 

As they turned the corner, Alec started talking. “Most important thing. Don't slow me down. You slow me down, you get us both killed.” He threw her a notebook and she put it in her pocket. It felt nice, in a way. To be part of the team.

“Sounds reasonable.”

Clary wondered if Izzy’s slightly slower pace due to her heels was as much of an issue for Alec as her shorter strides were. Probably not. Alec was… very close to Izzy. Clary doubted Izzy would ever bother him. 

Alec suddenly stopped and grabbed his stele. He took her hand and started drawing a rune on the back of her right hand. “I would appreciate if you asked before burning runes on my body…” Clary mumbled. “What's this for?” 

“Lets you see the demon's heat signature,” Alec replied. “And sorry. For not asking. It’s not unusual for people to just draw runes on others. We don’t have a huge… Shadowhunters tend to view our bodies in a very practical way.”

Clary didn’t pick up on that. Her mind was overwhelmed. The second the rune had been entirely drawn, her eyes had started seeing things that shouldn’t have been there, that she shouldn’t be able to see. She could already feel herself getting a headache from the eye strain. How did they not all have glasses? 

“Whoa,” she mumbled as lights and traces of light made her feel dizzy. The lights of the cars were blinding. 

“First time can be sensory overload,” Alec explained. He really should have warned her before drawing this rune on her. “The trick is to focus. Try to filter out everything unimportant, hone in on the heat signature.” 

She squinted her eyes. It wasn’t exactly the same thing as focusing, but right now, it was too hard to focus. Everything was  _ loud. _ Overwhelming. It was like a train had just run her over. She was not managing to deal with it at all. 

“Yeah, I'm honing. I'm just not seeing anything.”

Alec sighed. “Patience.”

Clary rolled her eyes and accidentally accentuated her headache. She was just so tired of being expected to pick up everything she was supposed to do immediately. She wasn’t like Alec or Izzy, this wasn’t what she had been raised to do. It had only been two months, and honestly, she thought she was doing amazing considering her circumstances.

“Easy for you to say,” Clary huffed. “For someone who hasn't been training her whole life, this stuff is impossible.”

“Impossible just means try again,” Alec replied. Clary huffed again, but… this one wasn’t bad advice. And it explained a lot. She could really feel the way this world made people succeed or die. Sometimes, when she put Alec’s words in that perspective, it made more sense. 

They started walking again and Clary followed as best as she could, her vision still adjusting to the rune. Alec went too fast. She somewhat appreciated that he didn’t treat her like a child anymore, but she hated that she had to run.

“Not that you have to worry about all that,” Alec added. “You'll be outta the field soon enough. You're going to Idris.”

Well the Institute surely liked gossip. Someone had probably heard her and Jocelyn talk in the corridor earlier. Or maybe someone had seen Jocelyn’s assignment on her file, or seen the paperwork. Either way it was out. 

“Wow, news travels fast,” Clary sighed. “But I haven't decided yet, so don't get too excited about throwing me a going away party.”

Alec smirked and licked his lips. She wondered what he thought of it, really. Of her leaving potentially, for Idris. “Honestly, I think you'll like Idris. It's amazing.”

Clary hummed. “I somewhat feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there.” 

Alec sighed. “I don’t know. I see the importance you’ve taken in Jace and Izzy’s lives. And I feel like they would be upset if you left. Izzy doesn’t open up the way she does with you with just anyone. She’s maybe more open than me, but… I don’t know, something happens when she’s around you.” 

“I worry about her,” Clary whispered. “She’s been acting strange.” 

“I’m surprised you noticed,” Alec admitted. “Not that you’re self-centered, but you don’t know us that well. I’m glad I’m not the only one who is seeing something.” 

Clary had a bit of a smile. “I’ll take whatever that was as a compliment, okay?” 

“Sure, as you wish,” Alec chuckled and looked away. “And… you’re good for Jace, I think. He’s a bit lost right now. I think he doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be.”

“He’d be better if he wasn’t in the City of Bones,” Clary muttered, and Alec nodded. 

“I trust him in front of Aldertree. He’s going to touch the Soul Sword and it will compel the truth out of him. And then everything will be alright. I know it.” 

Clary stayed silent for a moment. She appreciated Alec’s faith in Jace. She appreciated that he trusted the process and trusted that everything would come up fine for the innocent. She could also see the limits of that. Izzy’s recent adventure in the Clave’s justice system should be evidence enough that trusting the system failed. Jace was now under the same investigation. High Treason. Except this time, it wasn’t some...pulled out-of-nowhere thing. Jace had been on the ship with Valentine. And he’d obeyed his orders.

“Whether I should stay for Izzy or Jace… I bet that it'd be pretty amazing to get me out of your hair, huh?” Clary joked and she saw Alec’s face light up in a playful way. It was a very pleasant way too. He looked nice and young when he smiled. She wished she could see him like that more often. 

“I didn't say that,” Alec pointed out. “You did.”

Clary rolled her eyes but it wasn’t out of frustration anymore. Somehow, she appreciated Alec’s impassiveness and sarcasm right now. She could start to see the feelings and the care underneath. He cared quite obviously for his family. And she was starting to care a lot about his family too.

Maybe they could bond over that. Clary had tried to bond with him over their sexuality, but it had failed. Their circumstances were too different for them to really be able to do that. Her lesbian identity didn’t have the same meaning that his gay identity did in the Clave. She remembered Lydia’s words before the failed wedding. 

They came from different places. But Izzy and Jace were now what they had in common. And that, that should be enough. 

\-------------------

Raphael knew, as he stepped into the Institute and was greeted by three Shadowhunters in guards uniform, that this would not go well for him. He hadn’t been alive for as long as Magnus, but he knew when Shadowhunters were scheming something. And he knew the fate that tended to befall the Shadow People that walked into their schemes. 

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice though. If he didn’t follow the order of coming in to the Institute, the clan would probably suffer the consequences. Raphael had always been family-oriented. 

The guards guided him through the corridors to the Head of the Institute’s office. He knew where it was. He’d been there a couple of times before, when Maryse and Robert Lightwood were still responsible for it. He didn’t like the Lightwoods, but he felt like Aldertree was even worse. 

They opened the door. One of the three guards stayed behind as Raphael walked into the office. 

The man was on the balcony, looking out at the skyline of New York, when Raphael caught sight of him. He was standing with his back to him. It all seemed like a carefully planned play. Raphael realized that his part was already scripted. He couldn’t leave though. He knew what he could manage to do, in the confines of the Accords. Killing two guards to escape wasn’t part of it. 

“Mr. Santiago,” Aldertree said. He then turned around. Raphael noticed he was playing with his family ring. “Thank you for coming in.” There was a smug smile on his face. He knew exactly where they both stood. He knew he had the power. 

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Raphael replied, tone seeped in sarcasm. 

Aldertree nodded at the guards to leave. The door closed behind them, the noise too loud in the silence of the office. They were alone now. There were no witnesses. Whatever was going to happen now, it was going to stay in here. And it would be Raphael’s word against Aldertree’s. He would be able to spin any lie he wanted. He could say Raphael had attacked him. No one would believe Raphael. 

“Believe me, I was hoping to resolve our little vampire den dilemma without dragging you in here,” Aldertree said. He looked almost genuinely annoyed to have to go through the ‘ordeal’ of bringing him here. Almost. The jubilation of having a vampire at his mercy was too obvious in his tone and eyes to really sell the annoyance. “But last night, one of my team raided another one in Ocean Hill. Fourteen mundanes drained. Three of them children.”

Raphael winced. Of course they’d found another den. Camille was trying very hard to get the clan back. And having him thrown into the Clave justice system was definitely a power play. Raphael was very aware that he was playing with his life here. 

“Camille at work,” he sighed. “She's always had a thing for kids. It has nothing to do with my clan.” 

“We both know it’s not as simple as that, Mr Santiago. Your clan was her clan. They might still answer to her… And since  _ you  _ answer for them…” 

Raphael swallowed. He was almost certain that Camille was behind it all. He wouldn’t have expected her to get in bed with the Clave to get her Clan back, but it seemed like she was really passionate about her status in New York. That was unexpected. Camille had always been very cold and detached about her clan. She treated them as pawns in a game of pure power. Not like family.

“Unfortunately,” Aldertree said, trying again to appear like he wasn’t enjoying every moment of this. “We've reached the limit on kicking the can down the road. If you want to prove your innocence, deliver Miss Belcourt to the Clave.”

“You think I haven't been trying?” Raphael replied. 

Simon, as well as most of the Clan’s best fighters, had been on her scent for a while. Raphael was taking this very seriously, despite what Aldertree seemed to believe. Camille was ancient. She was much harder to track than a fledgling. She had mastered the game of escaping those who pursued her. 

“I want to believe you, Mr. Santiago, but sadly I'm not sure I do,”Aldertree sighed, walking closer to him. The threat in each of his steps was unmistakable and it made the hair on the back of Raphael’s neck stand up. This man was bad news.

Raphael took a step back and Aldertree a step forward, pushing him back into the office and closing the large window to the balcony behind them. 

“Based on your long list of missteps over the past seven decades, it  _ seems _ you have a hard time controlling your urges.”

Of course they knew about that. For some reason, Raphael had hoped that they didn’t. His addiction to feeding from mundanes had been incredibly hard to kick off. Going from the blood of someone alive next to him to cold bagged blood had been a journey that had a number of relapses. He’d gotten help every time and had never been convicted of murdering a mundane though. He guessed the couple of arrests on his record coupled with the knowledge Camille was surely feeding them were enough for Aldertree to have probable cause. 

“All unfortunate misunderstandings,” he replied. Aldertree motioned for him to sit on the chair across from the desk and he did. “But I told you I had nothing to do with those dens. It must've been Camille.”

“Where is she now?” Aldertree asked again, as he sat down in his own chair behind the desk. 

He was playing some sort of game and though Raphael knew something was going wrong, he had yet to pinpoint exactly what. Raphael tried to get comfortable, putting his arms on the armrests. 

“I told you, I don't know,” Raphael almost rolled his eyes as he replied. He kept himself from being too ‘insolent’. “And if I did, I'd go over there and find her myself and stop her.”

Aldertree had a little sigh. He touched his family ring again, before reaching into a small square wooden box that was on his desk. “What a hero you are, Raphael.” His voice showed he’d suddenly stopped trying to be nice. He took a little metallic object out of the box. Aldertree looked up at him and smiled. His smile was cold. He clicked on something on the object. 

Metallic shackles suddenly appeared around the armrests and locked his arms down. They were tight, strong, and he struggled, in vain, to get out of them. Out of instinct, his fangs extended and he hissed, using as much of his strength as he could to get out. It didn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Raphael hissed. 

Aldertree’s eyes were full of cold jubilation. Raphael knew the trap had closed and he was in it now. But this was different from the usual Clave use of loopholes to prosecute and arrest Shadow People. This seemed truly illegal.

“Something new from the Clave R&D department,” Aldertree explained, as he walked from his desk to stand in front of Raphael. Raphael struggled against the bonds again. “To convince our vampire friends to cooperate.”

Aldertree clicked on another button and a ray of blue light came out of the ceiling. Raphael frowned. This… this was absolutely not right. The laser-like ray started moving towards him. He struggled again but couldn’t even manage to get the chair to move back so he would be out of reach. The buzzing noise of the light ray was strident. Raphael almost missed the explanation of what it was. 

“Concentrated UV rays,” Aldertree said, something akin to awe in his voice. He let the laser play over his hand. It didn’t affect him, of course. “Even more intense than sunlight.”

Fuck. The laser started moving towards him and Raphael moved back, struggled, groaned as he tried to get away from the light. This was going to kill him. There was no way he would get out of this office alive. 

His eyes followed the path of the laser. It was steadily moving towards his left hand. Raphael closed his eyes, trying to brace himself but it was not enough. It seared into him. He’d never known pain quite like this. He felt it searing through his flesh, cutting through skin and muscle and bone alike. 

“Stop!” He screamed, voice hoarse and broken. His mind was fixated on the pain and he couldn’t deal with anything else. It was so horrible and violent and intense. An extreme agony that wouldn’t stop as his flesh burnt open, blood bubbling out of the wounds. 

“Where's Camille?” Aldertree asked again, completely calm.

“I told you. I don't know!” Raphael growled in reply. The laser stopped working on his hand and started moving again, slowly, up towards his face. No matter how hard he tried, Raphael didn’t know Camille’s location. Aldertree probably didn’t care though. He wanted him to give in and talk, say anything for the pain to stop. Raphael closed his eyes. He wouldn’t. When he opened them again, he looked up at the Shadowhunter who was looking down at him with a mix of jubilation and disgust.

“You can't get away with this,” Raphael groaned as he watched the laser go up and up his chest. “Torturing Downworlders is a breach of the Accords.” He wasn’t one to always believe that the Accords would protect him. But this was such an enormous breach that surely, the Accords would work. Right?

“We are aware of our restrictions on torture,” Aldertree replied, and with that and his amused tone, Raphael’s hopes evaporated. He wasn’t going to make it out of this in one piece. The pain in his hand had dulled down a little, but soon his face would be cut enough to make him crazy with pain. “We call this motivation.”

There it was. With that, Aldertree clicked on a button again and the laser crossed the small distance to his face. Raphael’s scream would have resounded into the Institute, had the door not had soundproofing runes all over it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 10, the second part of Day of Wrath!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	10. Day of Wrath Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 2 of Day of Wrath!
> 
> This chapter has a suicide attempt and mentions of torture so please be careful!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The screams kept Jace awake, even as he tried so hard to get some rest. His line of sight was starting to get a little hazy around the edges, and it felt like time was distended. He didn’t know what time it was anymore. The light never changed, always on in the corridors and off in the cells, the screams kept on resounding. 

He didn’t know if he had a concussion or not, he surely had a headache, and a head wound. Maybe it should have been checked out by some medics. He guessed prisoners didn’t get to have medical assistance. 

For some reason, he’d never really imagined what it could be like to be imprisoned. He had delivered a number of prisoners to the City of Bones in his life, but he’d pretty much never imagined how they would live, inside of the cells. Maybe he should have. It would have made this easier if he knew what was coming.

He blinked a little. The sound of heels were resounding down the corridors. Footsteps, in general, were the sign that someone that wasn’t a Silent Brother was coming. And heels were likely to be a woman’s. 

Jace looked up. 

She came out in front of the door of the cell. She was wearing the same clothing she had been wearing earlier, and she looked exactly the same. What had happened? Had she gone home and decided to come back immediately? Jace stumbled to his feet. 

“Clary?” He asked, surprised and, he had to admit, annoyed. She just didn’t know when to stay out of a situation she shouldn’t be in. And she didn’t know how to listen to what people were saying.

Clary walked up to the cell door immediately and grabbed his hand. “I know you said to stay away, but… Sorry, I can't. I can't be away from you.”

Jace sighed. Clary had no idea what she was getting herself into. She’d spent mere hours with Valentine, while he’d grown up with the psycho. And he knew what would happen if this kept happening. As long as they weren’t a family, they would be fine. 

“Why can't you understand?” Jace said, and he hated how pleading his voice sounded. He wasn’t used to this, he wasn’t used to pleading. He never had someone like this. Of course he would die for Alec or Izzy, but they could take care of themselves. Clary couldn’t. “You being near me and reminding me every second of every day - what I want, but I can't have.”

Having his family back was something Jace had dreamt of for years. He’d dreamt of seeing his father again, of meeting his mother. And he had. He’d seen his father, met his mother, and discovered he had a little sister. That had awakened something in him. He wasn’t used to being the older sibling. Alec was. And now… he had an eighteen year old sister who was getting into trouble after trouble. 

Clary came closer to him. “Please. We'll figure it out. We can be a family. Don't be afraid.”

She watched him, and he saw the resemblance to both Jocelyn and Valentine in her eyes. He saw the firmness, the fire, the desire to have what she wanted. And he loved that. But he hated that too. 

She came closer and for a moment, he could see it. He could feel it. He closed his eyes. He could imagine having a family, being her brother. Jace Morgenstern. That might work, right? They could be strong, together, a team.

And then. He didn’t see it anymore. He opened his eyes. His mouth spoke without him wanting it to. “No,” he heard himself say. He switched her grip on his hand to grab her wrist. “Be afraid.”

He slid his other hand to her thigh holster and took out her seraph blade. It made a sickening sound as it sunk into her stomach. She made a choking noise of pain, and he saw death in her eyes. He stared back at her as she looked at him in shock, red drops of blood coming out of the corners of her mouth. 

She felt betrayed. Jace couldn’t help but think she had it coming. Her body crumbled to the floor.

Her lifeless body hit the floor and it woke him up. 

He sucked in a breath and looked up. “Clary!” He called out. The blood, her eyes. It was horrible. It was a nightmare. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. He must have truly been exhausted. 

Jace sat up a little. His entire body ached from sleeping on the cold ground of the cell. He was still panting from the shock and horror of the dream.

A raspy, familiar voice called out his name. “Jace?” it said, and for a moment, Jace struggled to put a name to that oh-so-familiar but broken voice. “Are you okay?” 

_ Are you okay?  _ He remembered those words in that voice, when he was training at the Institute. There had always been some sort of care behind the firmness of the words, behind the detached facade. 

“Hodge?” Jace called out in reply. He crossed his arms. 

“Try not to sleep,” Hodge advised. It made sense that Jace hadn’t recognized his voice at first. It was not only hoarse, but it was… empty, almost. It was exhausted, and white with strain. He was struggling to pull himself together. It had only been a month since the last time they had seen each other. 

Hodge coughed a little, but continued. “The Silent Brothers use mind control to haunt you with nightmares of those you've hurt the most.”

Jace sighed, resting his head against the wall behind him. It was cold and humid. Everything about this place seemed designed to make him uncomfortable. It was a prison, after all. He wondered who Hodge was the most tormented by. Alec? Izzy? Him? Maybe Valentine, even. Jocelyn, since Hodge had considered himself her best friend. “You must never sleep.” 

Hodge had a small, sad chuckle. Jace couldn’t see him, behind the wall. He wondered this time what Hodge looked like after a month in this hellhole. How deeply was he hurt? How dirty and tired and uncomfortable did he look? Was he still the man that Jace had thought of as a friend, as someone he could trust? The last time they’d seen each other, Hodge hadn’t been that man anymore. He’d been ugly. He’d been wrong. 

“You were right to take my hand, Jace,” Hodge said, as if he was reading his thoughts. Jace huffed at that. He somewhat couldn’t believe that this was happening. That Hodge was praising him for cutting off his hand. It had been some… symbolic old-age idea of how to punish thieves, he guessed. He hadn’t thought about that as he cut off Hodge’s hand. Now thinking about it, it was a bit symbolic. 

“I never should have given the Cup to Valentine. Maybe someday you'll forgive me.”

No shit. Giving the Cup to Valentine wasn’t only stupid but it was dangerous. Hodge had been blinded by his old loyalty to Valentine and had walked right into the trap of doing his bidding for nothing in return. Not only that, but he’d  _ betrayed  _ them. Jace would never forgive that. 

“I don't believe in forgiveness, Hodge,” Jace replied. That was true. “I just stand by my actions, good or bad, and I accept the consequences.”

Valentine had raised him that way. He’d raised him to deal with what his actions brought him, good or bad. Mistakes and failures meant he got pain, or chores. He remembered that clearly. He remembered the consequences, and how he’d cried and begged for forgiveness for so long before understanding that it would bring him nowhere. Valentine wasn’t one to give in to the cries of a child, even if it was his own son. Valentine only got harder in those cases. 

“Unmerciful to the bone,” Hodge whispered. “That's what's always made you the best.” 

No, Jace thought. He was the best because he knew what failure got him. He knew that failure wasn’t an option if he wanted to stay happy and not in pain. It was simple. It was hard to reconcile that to having a family like Alec, Izzy and Clary, but he had managed to put them in the frame of work. If he failed them, he deserved punishment.

“But this place, it'll bleed every ounce of defiance out of you,” Hodge added. 

Jace huffed at that. He couldn’t help his reaction. Hodge had only shown weakness to him. It was almost ridiculous that he thought they would end up the same. Hodge had done so many things wrong to so many people that of course he wasn’t able to sleep. He had stolen the Cup, killed and attacked people. Jace was innocent of that. All Jace had done was protect his family. 

Yes, he’d chosen to go with Valentine. But that was only because he had Alec, Izzy, Clary, Simon and Magnus held at the edge of seraph blades, ready to kill or maim if he didn’t go with him. Yes, he’d done his bidding and yes, he’d gone and kidnapped Gretel from her home. But that was because Clary would have had to do it if he didn’t. He had protected her. And he would do that again, and again. 

“I'm nothing like you. They want me to bend, they can die trying,” Jace replied, straightening his back.

“Wait until your trial,” Hodge whispered, in a way that made Jace strain to hear him. There was some sort of promise in his voice. Something that said ‘you’ve seen nothing and you will fail’. That made Jace want to fight even harder.”After what they do to you? You will be like me.”

Jace hated that this promise rang true. Screams still echoed in the corridors, against the stone walls. Maybe soon, they would be his. 

\-------------

As they kept walking through the New York streets, Alec noticed that Clary wasn’t looking around hazely anymore. She had probably managed to focus on the heat signature. From that moment on, she walked faster, even running slightly, and he had to be the one keeping up with her.

They crossed the street and Clary was now running. She was following the trail. Alec was glad she was taking an active role in this, and not just following him around waiting for him to do stuff. 

Alec had activated his own heat tracking rune, of course. He didn’t trust Clary to be perfect at this on the first go. In all truth, he didn’t trust anyone as much as himself. Except maybe Izzy. 

She stopped running as the trail got wide, like splotches of ichor and blood and heat everywhere. It led them into a small alley, and was getting more messy. It was less of a blurry trail now. It was more concrete. 

“Alec!” Clary called out and he nodded. 

He reached towards his seraph sword as they walked into the alley. The trail was pooling and stopping behind a trash container. He slid the sword out of his holster and the blade extended and lit up. Clary followed him in grabbing her own blade. She was mirroring him and following him. That was good. That was the best way to learn. 

He guided her to walk behind him and stepped around the trash can carefully. He saw the blood on the floor first, then feet, then bloody hands. Clary walked in front of him again, going to the girl that was sitting on the floor, trembling. 

Alec paused. He looked around first. The girl seemed to be herself, but he could never be too careful. Once he’d decided that the perimeter was safe, he focused back on the girl. She was young, she had dark hair and her eyes were lost and hazy. 

“What happened? Who are you?” The girl mumbled, trembling. That, the hazy eyes, the blood and the paleness of her face were all telling signs. 

“It's okay,” Clary said, and put her blade back in her holster immediately. That was a rookie mistake. No matter what, she needed to stay ready for a fight. “We're here to help.”

Alec gently touched Clary’s arm before she went and took care of the girl. “It's a classic possession hangover. Once the demon leaves the body, they have no memory of what they did.” Every moment, no matter how bad and inappropriate it seemed, was a teaching moment. This was the Shadow World. And the Shadow World didn’t care for appropriate moments. The Shadow World was dangerous and deadly and took, took, took without care for appropriateness.

Alec didn’t necessarily like Clary. But he had been truthful when he’d told her he knew what she meant to Izzy and Jace. He loved them enough to recognize Clary’s importance. And that meant teaching her what this world was like. She’d recognized a long time ago that it wasn’t a fairytale, but she still had no real idea what it was like. 

“Is this blood?” The girl mumbled, horrified, staring at her bloody hands. She’d punched a hole in the chest of the man they’d seen dead earlier. 

“Just try to keep calm,” Alec replied. 

Clary rolled his eyes at him and crouched next to the girl, gently putting her hand on hers. “Hey, don't look at your hand, okay? Just look at me.” She said, in a sweet and reassuring tone. Alec guessed she was good at this. 

The girl was struggling, panting, and looking at her hands still. “I don't understand. What's going on?” She asked, before finally looking up at Clary. 

Clary smiled reassuringly. “I know nothing makes sense right now. But I'm going to help you. I promise. Okay?”

\------------------

Magnus Bane was standing inside of his apartment. He knew Camille was still around. Maybe he shouldn't have trusted Simon with all of this Camille stuff. Maybe he should have taken it on his own; after all he felt somewhat responsible for her.

Camille and him had had a very complicated and difficult relationship. He wondered what it would be like if he was still with her. If he hadn't changed and decided that he was worth more than what she saw him as. Maybe he would be happy. Honestly he didn't believe he would. He was happy now with Alec and his family.

It was strange to think of Alec as part of the family, to think of him as someone that was important. Magnus didn't know exactly how long this was going to last but he felt like he had to try harder than he had before. Alec made him want to do more. Alec made him want to go on dates. Alec made him feel butterflies. That was incredibly precious.

He was looking forward to the date that he and Alec had planned. Maybe taking him to Marrakech was a good idea or maybe they could just go into the village and be simple everyday mundanes. Magnus liked the idea of being normal for once. Even if their lives had nothing that was mundane. 

He had never  _ courted _ a shadowhunter before. Not that he would call that courting it was the 21st century after all. He just wanted to do things right because he had the feeling Alec was a traditional type in many ways, almost forcing himself to marry a woman for the honor of the family. When he thought about it, he found that Alec was maybe a bit more rebellious than he had initially thought. But something told him that he was still a traditional Shadowhunter in many many ways, wanting this perfect shadowhunter life, with children and a wedding, and dying on the battlefield. 

It was strange maybe, for other people to think about their lover dying, before they even had their first date. Magnus was immortal. It was something he had to think about, he had to prepare himself to live else he wouldn't be able to survive yet another loss. 

He disliked thinking about all of this. He had time. Alec was young. No one knew if they were actually going to be something that lasted. 

The doorbell rang, just as he was making himself tea, just as he was reflecting on the fleeting nature of the connection between him and Alec. He wasn't expecting anyone but it wouldn't be the first time someone showed up unannounced. He was too good like that. He always helped those who needed him no matter what.

He walked towards the door. The doorbell rang again. This time he felt like the person behind it was either very annoyed and impatient, in which case he would be quite annoyed as well, or they were desperate. 

“Coming!” He called out so that the person behind the door would know that they were not knocking and ringing in vain. He briefly wondered who it could be.

As he opened the door, his wards unlocked as well. It was a neat little trick. His magic responded to changes in the environment as well as changes that he brought forwards. It was useful.

Whole thoughts of magic and neat little tricks vanished from his mind as he saw who was standing behind the door, bloody, desperate. Raphael. Raphael, was the one person that Magnus considered to be his son. He cherished him. Their relationship was complicated, of course. They were a vampire and a warlock. They were very, very different. They were both leaders of their people too and that came with its own load of possible problems in their relationship. 

Here Raphael was, panting, clearly in pain, his face covered in large cross-shaped, bloody gashes. Magnus hated immediately to see him like that, to see his son hurting that way. Raphael held himself to the door, it being the only thing that was keeping him standing.

“Oh, Raphael,” Magnus whispered. He looked terrible. Magnes couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Raphael look like this. He remembered him bloody from drinking from mundanes, he remembered him burnt from crosses and holy water that he forced himself to consume and wear to remember his faith. He remembered him so low. But every time it had been Raphael's choice. To an extent, of course. Addiction was hard to exactly qualify as a choice. 

He had a feeling this time wasn't Raphael's choice.

“I didn't know where else to go,” he whispered, obviously in pain. He moved and fell; Magnus could only catch him. He helped him into the loft and closed the door behind them. Magnus tilted Raphael's head slightly, observing the wounds. 

Where else indeed would he have gone? A mundane hospital did not have what Magnus had, magic. Unless of course, the hospital happened to have a warlock in their midsts. 

“Oh, my poor boy,” Magnus whispered as he tried to detect the cause of the injuries. Casting some general healing magic  _ would  _ work, of course, but that wasn’t exactly the best course of action. Especially if he wanted to make sure there were no future consequences. 

The wounds looked somewhat like the ones vampires got when they were in the sun. They were much deeper and more localised than the usual big surface burns though, something Magnus hadn’t seen before. But knowing it came from sunlight was a good indication of where to start. 

“Everything's gonna be alright,” he promised, carrying him to his study where he had a big lounging chair. Something that could serve as somewhat of a hospital bed or dentist chair. “I'm going to take care of you.”

And there was still the possibility of calling Catarina if they needed extra hands and more magic. Her healing abilities were quite beyond compare. 

“Tell me what happened, my dear,” Magnus added, before he started working. 

————————-

Lydia was standing at the door between the garage and the Institute when the black van pulled into it. Isabelle and a couple other field agents that Lydia was still learning the names of came out of the vehicle, and took the body of the mundane they’d found out of the back of it. 

They strapped the body to a stretcher and wheeled it into the Institute. Lydia grabbed one of the sides and dismissed the field agents, staying alone with Isabelle as they got the body back into the main belly of the Institute and towards the elevators. 

“Take him down to the morgue,” she instructed, even if Isabelle knew what she had to do. She’d been doing this job, taking care of the forensics part of investigations, for years now. “And call as soon as you identify what kind of demon we're looking for. Until Victor comes back from the trial, I'm running point on this one.”

Even if the circumstances were far from pleasant, Lydia had to admit that she was glad to be back in control of the Institute. Victor Aldertree’s attitude towards her made her want to scream. He acted as if she was a child unable to do anything by herself. There was also something about the way he talked to her and other women around the Institute that made Lydia believe that he would have preferred to live at a time where women weren’t equal to men in the field. 

Lydia nodded at Isabelle and started walking back to the ops room. She was stopped by a call of her name, and she turned around. Isabelle had moved, the body still a little behind as she waited for the elevator to get to their level. 

“Have you heard anything about Jace?” Isabelle asked. It was obvious that she felt incredibly guilty about the situation but Lydia didn’t know exactly what had happened. She sure knew that Aldertree had been very satisfied with himself after he’d made that deal with her to get her to arrest Jace. 

Lydia didn’t have news. Aldertree didn’t really care about keeping her in the loop of his crusade against Jace Wayland. Or Jace Morgenstern, whatever was written on his file now. They had been very quick to update it, especially when he’d become wanted by the Clave for High Treason. 

“I know you're worried, but I'm still waiting, just like you,” Lydia replied, trying her best to sound reassuring, to sound like everything was going to be alright. Truth was, she didn’t know if it was going to be alright. It all depended on the questions Aldertree asked Jace once he had his hands on the Soul Sword. 

“Except I'm the one who put him there,” Isabelle replied. “I… He has to be okay.” 

Lydia sighed softly. “You did what you had to do. I trust that. You’re not the type to do something that’s not right, without a very good reason for it. I know that, better than a lot of people.” 

She would probably always remember how Isabelle had gone against her orders and defied her in a way no one else had ever done in her life. She would stay the anomaly that went against Lydia Branwell. Lydia had come to respect her for that, even if it hadn’t been that easy to accept. 

Isabelle nodded. She didn’t have time to say anything, as their quiet conversation was interrupted by none other than Raj Khatri. Lydia was truly annoyed by him. 

“Wow, that guy's heart is obliterated,” Raj pointed out as he peered into the hole in the man’s chest. “And I thought I was having a rough weekend.”

Lydia winced. She disliked him so much. He was so… inappropriate. Somehow, every single occasion to make an inappropriate comment was a good one. He always seemed to have the worst thing to say, in any scenario. 

“Show some respect for the dead,” she said, and she couldn’t help the annoyance and disgust at his behavior from seeping into her words. Death was the most important part of a creature’s life. Mundane, Shadowhunter… They were all masters to Death, and only death. The time spent alive was only important as to give Death honor. It only mattered in what impact and importance one’s Death was. 

“I'm just saying, I've been in his shoes before,” Raj added. Given the look on Isabelle’s face that surely was mirroring Lydia’s, he was only digging himself further in. “Except my demon's name was Kathy.”

“You know, you might want to cut back on the smartass comments,” Lydia snapped. She rolled her eyes, regained control of her emotions and turned to Isabelle. She had much better things to do than listen to the idiocies that Raj kept spewing. “Let me know if you find anything,” she said and Isabelle nodded. 

As Lydia walked away she heard Raj’s huff and his next words. 

“Wow, who died and made her queen?” 

She didn’t hear Isabelle’s retort. She wanted to scream again. She missed being in control of her life, of her work, and of her reputation. 

———————

As the blue glow of healing magic enveloped Magnus’ fingers and acted on his face, Raphael’s panting began to subside. He looked less and less in pain, the shine of something akin to sweat no longer on his pale skin. Magnus was somewhat used to injuries and he felt responsible for these.

Aldertree had told him he would be punished. He should have known it would come. He should have known it wouldn’t be forthright. He should have known he would come for his family. For Raphael. 

“Aldertree knows how I took you in,” Magnus said. It felt like some rationalizing of the violence Raphael had endured. Magnus wished it didn’t sound like that. “How you're like a son to me. That's why he did this.”

“He was looking for Camille,” Raphael whispered. Aldertree had been looking for Camille for weeks now. There had to be something that kept him in his search. Magnus usually knew the Clave to be rather fickle in their searches. 

“And punishing me at the same time.”

For a moment, Raphael was silent. He spoke next slowly. “So,” he started, and Magnus would have closed his eyes were he not focused on the magic. He dreaded what Raphael was going to ask. Because he knew what it would be. “Can you help me deliver Camille to the Clave?”

The magic died from his fingertips, leaving a couple of wounds still wide and painful. He couldn’t focus on it for the moment. “Raphael -” 

“I know it's a lot to ask,” Raphael interrupted him before he could refuse, before he could say anything else. Magnus sighed. He grabbed at the necklace that was around his neck, to try and find some comfort in the fidgeting motion. What he was asking was… almost unthinkable, to Magnus. “Which is why I haven't until now. Aldertree gave me 12 hours to deliver her, or he'll burn me alive along with my entire clan.”

Magnus took a deep breath. Camille or Raphael and a bunch of innocent vampires. Camille, with whom he shared this unmistakable and unbreakable bond, no matter how hard he tried to break it, no matter how much he wished she wouldn’t be a part of him anymore. Raphael, his son. Not the first Shadow Person he’d helped in his life, but maybe the first that had stuck in this specific way. He was used to them growing and healing and leaving. Raphael was still there. And his clan needed him. Magnus needed him too. 

He didn’t have time to reply. There was a knock on the door. Magnus almost rolled his eyes. He needed to invest in a “I’m busy, come back later” sign for his door. That way maybe he would be left alone when he wanted to be. 

He stayed by Raphael, fairly confident that if he pretended not to be home long enough, his solicitor would go away. 

“Magnus, you there? It's me.” 

Simon. Maybe someone Magnus could consider putting in as the latest name to add to the list of his protégés. And one of the people Magnus thought of first when he remembered recent victims of Camille’s bloodlust and specific take on the word ‘fun’.

Something on Raphael’s face contorted and Magnus sighed, opening the door. He hoped they would stay civil. Raphael was in this situation, in this pain, because Simon had yet to deliver Camille to him to give to Aldertree. And Simon… from what Magnus knew, Raphael hadn’t used the friendliest of tactics to get Simon’s help in his search. Magnus was planning to let the two have a talk. 

“Okay, time to put your money where your mouth is about helping me find Camille, 'cause Raph-” Simon stopped in his rambling when he saw the way the older vampire was coming towards him. Magnus stood to the side and let it play out. They needed to talk. Magnus disliked when the people he loved were fighting. “Man, you are everywhere!” 

“Aldertree did this to me because of you,” Raphael growled. 

“Yeah, well, you look like crap. Bring it on, Scarface!” Simon was surprisingly the first to get physical. He pushed Raphael back and Magnus knew exactly how this was going to end if he didn’t step in. Always the diplomatic influence, wasn’t he? 

“Hey, hey, hey, boys,” Magnus said as he walked in between them, putting a hand on each of their chest. If Raphael gave in almost immediately, knowing that his strength could hurt Magnus if he pushed against the hand too hard, Simon didn’t. Magnus winced before discreetly healing himself. “Relax. Let's talk this out with civility, please?” He asked, annoyed. He should have expected this outcome, really. 

“Anyone for a martini?” He asked them, but both vampires were focused on each other, traits angry with fear. He could even see sharp canines biting Simon’s own lip. “I'm having a double.” He let go of them and walked to the drink cart. Thankfully, there was no violent crash behind him. 

“You threatened my mother,” Simon snapped, in an angry whisper.

Raphael hissed back. “And if you'd even lifted half a finger to find Camille-” 

“Lifted half a finger?” Simon growled, taking offense in that. Magnus rolled his eyes as he poured himself a cocktail. “I Portaled to freakin' India and had to face off with a cobra! And all I got was this stupid box of hers!” He said louder, as he took the little box out of his pocket. 

“This stupid box is sacred,” Raphael replied. “You know why? It contains Camille's grave dirt.”

That made Magnus look up quickly. Good thing he had finished making his martini. “Grave dirt?” 

Fuck. That was an actual way to find Camille, to get her and to deliver her to the Clave. This… was a way to reach their goal. And it was… the end of trying to not do anything and not get involved directly. “I thought maybe diamonds, or that gold ring she stole from Cleopatra's tomb,” he mumbled, trying to downplay it. 

His eyes immediately went to the box though, as he walked closer to where they were standing. He couldn’t shake the dread that curled in his bones at the idea of having to send Camille to the Clave. To what could be her death. Selfishly, he didn’t feel like she deserved death. Maybe it was a remnant of the way she’d wrapped his head with lies and beliefs that he did not truly hold.

“So we're excited about a box of dirt,” Simon huffed. “Anyone wanna clue me in?” 

Magnus blinked for a moment. He would have usually done the explaining part, but he’d gotten caught up in thinking about Camille. Before he had the time to say anything, Raphael spoke up.

“If you have a vampire's grave dirt, you can use it to summon them.”

“Great,” Simon said and he sounded relieved. Magnus wished he could share the feeling. He really wished that he wasn’t so conflicted about this. He shouldn’t be. After all, Raphael’s life and his whole clan’s lives rested on giving Camille to the Clave. This should be an easy choice right? One murderous, cruel and abusive vampire ex for a hundred or so lives, and the one of his son. 

“Except, not that it means anything,” Simon kept on rambling. “but that thing's harder to open than the Lost Ark.”

Raphael grabbed the skewer with the olive from Magnus’ martini glass and threw away the olive. Magnus barely had time to open his mouth to tell him off about staining his carpet with olive and martini. Raphael had sliced Simon’s palm open with the sharper end of the skewer. 

“Ouch! What the hell?” Simon exclaimed, looking down at the wound that was already closing at the edges. 

Raphael grabbed his arm and pulled him to the table where he’d put the box down. “To open the box, you need Camille's blood,” he grumbled, and put pressure on Simon’s arm, forcing blood out of his veins and onto the box. “And since she's your sire...” 

As the drops fell onto the decorated box, it clicked open, the upper part of it rising up. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like it had no opening and all of the faces were held together. Simon took his hand back from Raphael’s grip, glaring at him. 

Magnus prayed that it wouldn’t open. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to do this, really. He wasn’t very religious, but he still prayed, because he didn’t want to get involved. God, or the Gods, whoever they were, didn’t grant him his wishes. 

Under their eyes, the lid of the box slid open and off, revealing the dirt it was containing. To a mundane, a Shadowhunter, or someone who didn’t have the knowledge, it looked like something that belonged in the trash. Not to Magnus or Raphael, or now, Simon.

“Okay. Now what?” Simon muttered. 

Now, Magnus had to betray the woman he’d loved, to save his son. That was going to hurt, he thought, as he took a big gulp of his martini.

—————————

Clary was still running after every single alarm. It was cute, Isabelle decided. She was still so surprised and shocked and intense about all of this. It reminded Isabelle of the trainees they usually had, wide-eyed and passionate and hopeful. She wondered when Clary’s surprise would dull. 

They were all rushing of course, but Clary was actually running. As they arrived into the training cloisters, they were met with the sight of the lifeless body of Welkie, a field agent they’d all worked with a few times. He wasn’t part of their usual team rotation, but the Institute was most of these people’s homes. They knew each other. 

Isabelle muttered a small “Ave Atque Vale” as she walked closer to the body. Another Shadowhunter named Mark was sitting, dazed and confused, covered in blood, against a nearby wall. 

“Classic possession hangover,” Clary whispered. Izzy blinked. When did she have time to learn that? She focused back on the body as Lydia walked from Mark’s side to theirs.

“Hole punched right through his chest,” Lydia pointed out. 

Fuck. “Just like our mundane in the morgue,” Isabelle replied. They were fucked. The demon shouldn’t have been able to get in. Now the entire Institute was compromised. 

This wasn’t normal. The wards were up, but they hadn’t shown any sign of intrusion or suspicious activity. Neither had the Amor necklace that Izzy had worn every day since Magnus had gifted it back to her. It should have lit up in the presence of the demon. Something was wrong. 

“The demon's in the Institute,” Alec said, spelling out what everyone was thinking. 

Lydia gave orders to the medics to take care of Mark, and to a couple others to get the body to the morgue for Izzy to work on later. He would then need to be given a funeral. She then turned to Alec, Clary and Izzy, and ordered them to gear up. 

“Activate emergency surveillance,” she told some of the soldiers as they walked with her to the gear-up stations. She was getting into battle mode, and Izzy could appreciate that. She was used to running things, and it was obvious. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Lydia to have to be Aldertree’s assistant. “Victor's unreachable. I've ordered the Institute to be put on quarantine until we kill this thing,” Lydia said. 

Raj joined them to gear-up. Izzy pursed her lips at that but said nothing. The other present field teams were getting ready as well, but being the alpha team, they had to get moving first. There was a clear deployment order.

Lydia and Clary reached for their thigh holsters on one of the tables, Izzy going to get her own.

“But I don't get it,” Clary pointed out, the buckle of her holster making a clear metallic sound as she strapped it tightly. “How did the demon get past the wards?” 

Izzy sighed. She’d been thinking about that too. There was no way that they had brought it in willingly. And if it had been around, her necklace would have lit up. “Same way it got in without setting off this,” she replied, reaching up to touch the ruby necklace for a moment. She should have felt it. Something was very, very wrong. “It must have some advanced cloaking ability. It hid in that dead body and let us do the rest.”

She grabbed her own holster, starting with the belt part and buckling it in place. 

Clary was getting busy with the thigh straps but she was following the conversation. “I didn't know demons could do that,” she said softly. She looked like she was trying to remember if they had told her something specific about demons and cloaking abilities. Izzy couldn’t imagine going through this learning demonology in the field, every day. Shadowhunters usually went through Academy training first, where all the theory and the rules were explained to them, and they had to study them carefully. 

“Until now, they couldn't,” Alec pointed out. It was probably their major concern. Demons weren’t supposed to be able to do that. They would deal with one demon inside the Institute. But they couldn't deal with demons evolving in a way that would render their wards useless. ”This new form of possession, cloaking ability, targeting the Institute, it's...” Alec trailed off, unable to find an adjective that could really summarise the danger and horror of the situation. 

If all of the training, all of the wards, all of the rules and everything they knew were wrong, the entire Clave and the entire Nephili race was in big trouble. Extinction-size trouble.

“Valentine,” Clary added after a moment. “It has to be Valentine.” 

They all looked at her like she'd grown a second head. Why was she bringing up Valentine now? 

“His experiments,” she added, trying to explain. She finished gearing up and walked to the table. Lydia, Alec, Raj, and Izzy all gathered around the table as well, listening to her closely. “My mom told me how he was determined to create a super-being that could defeat the Clave. It's what he tried to do with Jace.”

Izzy nodded. That was good to know. It was needed to investigate the demon, and to find it. Lydia seemed to be deep in thought. Izzy knew she was thinking of the mess it would be when she had to present this to the Clave. 

“Both victims had damage to the prefrontal cortex,” Izzy pointed out, bringing the attention back to the case at hand. “The demon must be feeding on negative emotions. Anger, hate, rage. Causing the host to violently act on those urges.” They had to find people who could be holding grudges against others. That wasn’t that hard to find. In the Nephili culture, things were based on hierarchy, but also on family. 

Izzy guessed there was a good number of people that held grudges against her, Alec and Jace, for being on the alpha team. After all, she was somewhat sure that they were only on that team because of their name, and their family. Many Shadowhunters from smaller families rarely ever got to the status of soldier or agent. 

“We can’t track them with demonic energy sensors,” Alec added. “So we continue to scan for venom and heat signatures. Try to narrow down the current host before it strikes again.” 

Lydia clicked on the table’s screen and a 3D model of the Institute appeared. She turned on the heat signature filter and the areas they needed to investigate appeared red on the 3D map. She nodded. 

“Alec, you check the living quarters,” Lydia ordered, before turning to Clary and Izzy. “You two take the utility tunnels.” 

Clary nodded and Izzy and she walked away. Izzy led her to the staircase. It was better to use stairs than the elevator right now. She did not want to end up trapped in there, with anyone. Especially not Clary. Izzy was afraid that she would end up getting possessed and hurting her for giving Jace away. It felt terrible not to trust Clary that way. 

Clary hadn’t seen that part of the Institute yet. Izzy was walking surely, knowing exactly where she was going. For maybe the five thousandth time, Clary wondered how it was possible for Isabelle to know so much, be so familiar with everything, be so used to her job. She was 21, she shouldn’t have this… habit of anything. She should be discovering things and making mistakes. 

Clary was a bit scared of that. Of what this job, this life, did to people. They were all so young, and yet acting like they were decades older.

She kept her thoughts to herself as they reached the utility tunnels. The light in there was green from the neon that kept the tunnels constantly lit. 

“So,” Clary muttered. “What are those for?” 

Izzy looked back behind her as they turned into another corridor and started canvassing the tunnels. 

“Most of the plumbing and electric work is housed down here. A lot of the Institute works on angelic power, thanks to the angelic power core, but there is still a lot of mundane workings,” Isabelle explained. “It’s also very useful to sneak around the Institute, and to sneak out.” She sent Clary a wink. Clary giggled.

They stopped as they caught sight of a puddle of black goo on the floor. It seemed to be dripping from the metal grid above them. It smelled sulfurous. Clary unsheathed her seraph blade, just in case the demon was around. 

“Demon ichor,” Clary muttered. 

Izzy nodded, crouching to collect a sample in a small vial with an angelic power rune on it. “It must've come through here after the kill upstairs,” she explained. Clary nodded as well and walked around the room, looking at the boxes on the walls. “So Idris, huh?” Izzy added, standing back up. Her whip was not in its bracelet form and she held it in her hand as she started walking down another corridor, not really looking back at her. “I thought you were a New York City girl, tried-and-true.”

“Wow, does the Institute have, like, a Twitter feed?” Clary asked sarcastically. She was a bit annoyed that everyone seemed to know that her mom had asked her to leave. 

“People talk. Especially when it comes to you, your mom, your family,” Isabelle whispered. “You’re a very… infamous family.” 

Clary swallowed. “Exactly how many people are following ‘The Morgensterns Saga’?” 

Izzy bit her lip and took a few more steps. “Well… I’d say most of the Institute? So a couple hundred? That’s for the ones that follow day to day.” 

Clary rolled her eyes. “Awesome,” she grumbled. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow,” she added, and she calmed down slowly. “I'm still trying to figure it all out. Is there a rune for letting you be in two places at once?” 

“I wish.”

There was something a bit… strange about the way Izzy spoke. Something almost resentful. Clary swallowed. Their relationship wasn’t necessarily going the best, bumpy with issues and messes they had to fix. But Clary valued Izzy, and she needed her to know that. 

“My mom really wants me to go with her,” Clary explained. “And we went through so much to get her back, but I just... I don't know.” She was so lost when it came to this. She knew that she should probably stay with her mom. She loved her mom, and she needed to stay with her family. And maybe not being in the field wouldn’t make her one of those too-old people.

But there was Izzy, and Jace, and this life here. Even Alec seemed to not hate her as much anymore. This world she had come to know and this life she’d started to grow into, it was all in this Institute, in New York. And though it seemed like travelling back and forth between Idris and Institutes wasn’t uncommon, it was still a great distance. Idris was in Western Europe. That was… six hours of time difference away.

“At least you have a mom who wants to be with you,” Isabelle whispered as she kept walking through the little corridors. “Who thinks you're smart and wonderful-”

Clary rolled her eyes. “Yeah, who erased my memories and lied to me about having a brother.” She knew Maryse Lightwood was not the best mother either, but she wouldn’t consider her mom the best mom of the year.

“I'm not saying she hasn't done some pretty screwed up things,” Izzy stopped and looked at her. “But all moms do. So maybe you should be glad you have one who wants to try and make things right.” The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. Clary wondered if Izzy had seen Maryse recently, and if something more had happened. Izzy turned away and opened a metallic door. 

With all her talk of Jocelyn being a better mom than Maryse, and how Clary should be thankful to have her, it seemed like she wanted her and her mom to stay together. Clary didn’t know how to deal with that. 

“Wait,” Clary stopped her. “You think I should go?” She guessed that, if Izzy didn’t want her to stay… she could visit Jace from time to time. Or maybe Jocelyn could request for him to go to Idris as well… Clary had nothing to do here without them, right?

Izzy turned around and her hair flipped around her face. How did she always look like a model? How did she always look so… perfect? “Of course not,” she said, as if it was completely obvious. Clary found herself breathing easier. “No one in Idris is gonna teach you how to fight in five-inch heels.”

Clary chuckled at that. She found herself loving this woman more and more. As a friend, of course. Platonically, definitely. 

“Come on,” Izzy added. “We've got a demon to hunt.” She pushed the metallic door open and they walked into another part of the utility tunnels. 

  
  


——————————

  
  


Jace could feel himself slipping back into sleep, but he was fighting against it. He still didn’t know what day it was, but at least Hodge had stopped talking to him. It was somewhat hard to keep his resolve to not talk to the man. After all, a part of him still considered Hodge a friend. 

He didn’t know how long it had been since Hodge had stopped talking when two Silent Brothers stopped in front of his cell. He straightened up. One of the Silent Brothers unlocked the door, hovering his hands over the Technique rune engraved in a stone next to the cell. The metallic bars retreated and disappeared into the stone. 

Jace stood up. There was only one reason why they were taking him out of the cell, he thought as the Silent Brothers shackled his feet, hands and wrapped a chain around his waist that they connected to the shackles at his wrists. The interrogation with the Soul Sword. Jace swallowed.

Both Silent Brothers gathered behind him, and put their hand on his shoulders. They walked him out of the cell. Jace heard Hodge mutter a ‘good luck’ and rolled his eyes at him. He was not exactly confident himself, but… he had to pretend. He didn’t want Hodge to think he was weak, or listening to him. 

They walked him through corridors that looked exactly alike. He wouldn’t be able to find his way out if he was to make a run for it. The City of Bones was designed to be the worst place any being could imagine. It added to the general feeling that Silent Brothers were not really people anymore. 

They walked past yet another skeleton laid on a bench. The sight of these made Jace feel… slightly uneasy. When he’d been younger, he’d felt respect when he saw them. Even a year or so ago, he would have thought there was honor to it. Being displayed this way in the City of Bones had been something to aspire to. He couldn’t pinpoint what had happened to make him change his mind. 

They turned a corner and passed an archway, and suddenly there was a stand, the Soul Sword on display, two Clave guards and Aldertree with a smirk on his face. Jace wanted to run. He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t. 

He was made to stand in front of Aldertree, one of the guards moving to stand behind him. The Silent Brothers let go of him, but fixed the chains he wore to the floor. There was no running anymore, not even if he wanted to. 

Aldertree took a few steps forward. He stopped, and the Silent Brothers each took an end of the Soul Sword. As they walked to him and rested the Sword over his open hands, they spoke the traditional words. 

_ You stand before the Sword, accused of treason against the Clave, as well as the murder of two Downworlders. Be thee innocent or guilty, may the truth free thy soul.  _

Jace swallowed. The truth might get him an execution, if Aldertree asked questions that were twisted enough. The Sword was surprisingly light over his hands, but the weight it had on his mind was heavy. He kept his eyes on the Sword for a moment. He couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. It was absolutely perfect, and absolutely beautiful. It could only be, since it was crafted by the Angel. 

“Have you anything to say before we start?” Aldertree asked. Jace would have enjoyed a hello, before the brutal and unfair line of questioning that was sure to follow. 

“Facilis descensus Averno,” Jace said, looking right ahead, right above Aldertree’s head. The words were comfortable. They reminded him of an easier time. Of a time where he could trust his siblings. He was still hurt from Izzy’s betrayal. Izzy, out of all people. She should have been… on his side.

“"The descent into Hell is easy." I'm glad you believe in our sacred Clave motto,” Aldertree hummed. He looked like he actually didn’t believe him. Jace hated that man. And he hated that he could ruin him. 

“Alec and I use it to remind each other we can't be broken.” Izzy had used it too, but it seemed like she had failed. She’d been broken, somehow. Aldertree had managed to make her arrest him. Jace, despite the pain of betrayal, knew she wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t have an extremely good reason. 

Aldertree had a small, somewhat courteous nod. Jace took a deep breath. The man in front of him was silent for a couple of seconds before he started questioning him. 

“Are you Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, formally known as Jonathan Christopher Wayland, son of Valentine Morgenstern and Jocelyn Fairchild, born January 18th of the Razielian year 899 and the Gregorian year 1995, ward to Robert Lightwood and Maryse Trueblood, and stationed in the New York Institute?”

“Yes,” Jace replied. He hated this. And he hated being called Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. He wished he wasn’t that man. 

“Did you kill the werewolf Gretel Monroe?” Aldertree asked, not losing a single moment to question him.

That was definitely an easy one to answer. “No.”

Aldertree stayed still. He was holding his hands in front of himself, somewhat like a reverse resting pose. “But you captured her for your father, Valentine Morgenstern, after being encouraged by your spellbound sister.” 

Jace took a deep breath. “I had to protect her. But I accept full responsibility for my actions.” The Soul Sword wasn’t really doing much for now. Jace was thankful. 

“You have a great love for your sister, don't you?” Aldertree asked, looking smug. Jace wanted to punch him. He hoped that Aldertree wouldn’t ask how he felt about him, else he’d have to tell him in every gory detail the things he wanted to do to make him suffer.

Jace winced. “Leave Clary out of this.” He couldn’t help it, his voice was way more aggressive than it should have been. 

“Yes or no?” Aldertree demanded. 

Jace grumbled a very annoyed: Yes.

“And yet you have only met her slightly over two months ago. And you only learned she was your sister three weeks ago. That was fast, wasn’t it?” 

“A lot has happened in that time. But yes, it was fast,” Jace replied. He didn’t know where this was going exactly but in any case, he didn’t like it. “I’m a Shadowhunter. The bonds of blood are the most important to our people.” 

Aldertree nodded. “You are a family man, that is honorable.” Coming from Aldertree, that didn’t seem like a compliment. “Do you love your father?” He asked. Jace swallowed his wince. That was why he was asking. That was where he was going.

Jace closed his eyes for a second. It was hard to reply. He didn’t love Valentine. He loved Michael Wayland. And even then, Michael Wayland had been cruel, unforgiving and violent. He’d made Jace into a demon-blooded abomination, and trained him into a monster. He’d broken his bones and taught him to neither love nor hate, but to be completely apathetic. He’d taught him to be a killing machine and the things he’d said and done still haunted Jace’s dreams. “I love the dream of the father I wished he'd be.”

Aldertree was silent for a moment. Either it was only an act, or Jace had managed to dodge the question enough not to have Aldertree use it as evidence for him to be deruned or executed. 

“Do you feel your father's goal to kill all Downworlders is just?” 

Jace opened his mouth to say no but the Sword suddenly lit up and he felt it. It was a pull. A pull from a clawed hand wrapped around his mind. The claws dug into his mind and made it painful to think of anything but the instinctive truth. 

He choked, sputtered, tried to fight it somewhat and lost the fight in an instant. “Yes and no.”

“Which one is it?” 

“Both,” Jace spat out. “My father's world view may be misguided, but I've seen the vampire dens that are thriving because of the Clave's lack of action. Your lack of action.” His words were full of a poison that he hadn’t thought was there. He felt sick of his own ideas. He felt sick that he found something right in the way Valentine saw the world and where it was meant to go towards. Magnus didn’t deserve to die. Not when he was so helpful and so important to Alec. Simon was Clary’s best friend and he was only a vampire because of the Shadowhunters’ search for the Mortal Cup. He didn’t deserve to die either.

Aldertree moved, putting his hands in his pockets. Jace knew he’d made a decision, but he didn’t know what it was. He was afraid to know what it was. The weight of the Sword’s power was exhausting him. He could feel himself shift in a very strange way.

“Final question,” Aldertree hummed. He was back to being smug. After all, Jace had just admitted to believing in some of Valentine’s doctrine. “Can you pledge your unconditional loyalty to the Clave?” 

Jace felt the trap snap around him. If he answered with the truth, if he answered what he truly believed, he would be branded as siding with Valentine. No amount of saying he was coerced would matter because they would have a true testimony with the Soul Sword as guardian of truth. 

Jace opened his mouth. The Sword lit up and the claws started dragging around his mind again. “Facilis descensus Averno,” he managed to groan out. 

Aldertree raised his voice. “I asked you a question,” he repeated, this time starting to show more annoyance and less perfect coolness. “Can you pledge your unconditional loyalty to the Clave?” He repeated.

“I-” He stopped there. He was struggling, the claws were too deep in. 

“Answer!” Aldertree shouted. 

The magic was too strong, the pull and the claws, it was all too strong. No matter how hard he tried, how much he thought about Alec, their pledge never to be broken, or anything else, he was going to break. He hated that he wasn’t strong enough not to give in. He should have been. With the demon blood and his training, he should have been strong enough. He wasn’t.

“No!” He shouted, the word wrenched out of him by the magic. “No, I can't.”

Aldertree sighed deeply. He even had the decency to look slightly sad about this. Amazing. Jace still wanted to kill him and make him suffer. Fucking asshole. What had they even done to him to deserve this? Why was he going after him like this, wanting to hurt his family so much?

“Based on your testimony,” Aldertree spoke out, slow and deliberate. “I will recommend to the Clave a punishment of life imprisonment.”

Life imprisonment. That was worse than execution. Maybe even worse than deruning. He couldn’t imagine spending his life in this prison, in a cell in the City of Bones, with the constant screaming, the tortuous nightmares every time he closed his eyes. He was going to go insane here, from the torture. At least if he was deruned, he would be free. He would be able to see his family more, and have a life, even if it wasn’t the life he wanted to live. At least if he was dead, he could rest. But no. 

“May the Angel have mercy on you,” Aldertree smirked at him. Mercy? There would be no mercy for him, not if he was imprisoned here. If he was imprisoned here, he would never know peace or mercy again. 

He still had a sword in his hand, he realized. A sword that was very sharp, and kept as sharp as possible as part of the ritualistic way of taking care of it. 

He changed grip, going from the hilt just resting on his palm to being clutched in his hand and he brought the blade to his throat. He would rather die than be imprisoned for life. His family would mourn him. He would be alright if he was dead. 

He didn’t see the Silent Brother move. He didn’t even have time to feel the blade against his skin. The claws were suddenly back, and they were deeper, and moving more. They dug through his mind and Jace fell to the floor, yelling in agony. The Sword clattered as it fell next to him. 

Jace couldn’t hear Aldertree’s words over his own screaming. He didn’t realize what was happening, even as hands grabbed him and he was dragged back to his cell. He passed out before the pain stopped. In his nightmares, he killed Clary over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 11, the third part of Day of Wrath!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	11. Day of Wrath Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 3 of Day of Wrath!
> 
> This chapter mentions Magnus' past suicidal tendencies, so be careful!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Magnus wasn’t hiding. He was just taking some time and having a drink before he had to go and deliver Camille to the Clave. He couldn’t help but dislike the way Simon and Raphael didn’t seem to care. Camille hadn’t given them many reasons to care, though. 

He toyed with the olive in his drink. He was past his third martini. He still had time before the world started blurring around the edges, and he started losing control. If he got drunk, they wouldn’t ask for his help. He hated that he was thinking this way. He wasn’t a selfish man. He did selfish things sometimes, for survival, but this wasn’t about survival. Or maybe it was. 

He didn’t want to lose Camille. Not when she was one of the rare people that he knew got him. Not when she was this important, and this knowledgeable. If she disappeared, there would be one less person able to make him feel okay. 

He remembered a lot of his time with Camille. More than he thought he would remember, if he was honest. A lot of the memories had blurs around the edges, alcohol blurs. Parties they had crashed, days and nights spent in a bed without getting out, blissful from passion and other drugs. Magnus remembered the blood, and he remembered the anger too, but it was Camille. He also remembered her arms, her hands, holding him. Firm and unwavering. And she took him in her arms and said he was alright. 

He wondered when it had soured. He also wondered if it had ever been good. It was complicated. She had never loved him, but she’d cared enough that she had saved him. Had it been a play or had it been real? Either way he was there, he was alive and he was looking at the night of New York, this night that was so full of light. Camille hated the New York light, she missed the way London had shadows she could slip into. She hated this world he loved and its people he adored. 

Magnus remembered being with her, resting his head on her lap as she read a book in a dark room, curtains closed to keep her from burning. There was a constant fire burning, and he had to use magic to cool himself. She liked fires. It made her warmer than she was, at least to the touch. 

He remembered the fire in his veins when she bit him. And he remembered the look on her face when she tasted his blood. Pure ecstasy. They laid intertwined afterwards, every time. He was drained and exhausted, and she was high. High on his blood. She’d told him once, mundane and Fallen Angel made for the best high. He believed her.

She’d known he was the son of a Fallen Angel the first time she’d tasted his blood. She’d known what Angel blood tasted like. She’d probably gotten herself a Shadowhunter once. Magnus sighed and closed his eyes a little. That day, where she’d told him with no hint of doubt in her voice that he was the son of a Fallen Angel, he’d almost ran away. Maybe his life would have been different if he hadn’t. 

“Cold feet?” 

Magnus looked up. He had been deep into his thoughts, memories… He’d almost forgotten that time was passing and that he was supposed to be summoning Camille soon. He took a big gulp of the martini. 

Simon stood at the door to the balcony, looking at him, waiting. He looked young. So young. Perpetually 18. That had to suck. Magnus’ genetics had had the very good idea to settle on early 30s. 

“Listen, I get this can't be easy,” Simon started, and Magnus sighed. “Considering you and Camille used to…. you know.” 

Magnus stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony, leaning against the stone and putting his glass on it. He couldn’t really look at Simon. He knew that most people only thought Camille was his ex. And she was. But she was much more than that. 

“But if you're feeling guilty about handing her over to the Clave, I can show you phone shots of the den she created,” Simon kept going, walking towards him. Magnus looked down. He knew that giving Camille to the Clave was the right moral choice. It wasn’t the right choice for him, not when she was this… person for him, but it was morally right. He knew that. Being reminded of it hurt. He hated feeling like… he was being selfish, being wrong. “'cause it's... It's messed up.”

Magnus closed his eyes. It was. Camille had gone off the rail again, worse than ever. And he was the one who was keeping her from being brought to justice. Or whatever the Clave thought was right. It was his choice to be on this balcony, drinking, thoughts filled with memories of colder skin against his own, comforting words and angry eyes. 

“Plus, she…. She killed me, too. So there's that.”

“I admit she's gotten more... reckless over the last 200 years,” Magnus spoke out. “And I can't defend anything she's done.” He paused, for a moment, trying to find a way to make Simon understand that it wasn’t as easy as he thought. Simon saw Camille as… this one-dimensional villain but there was so much that he didn’t know. His mind still worked like a mundane, it was always this way with young immortals. They didn’t grasp that there was always more to someone than what they knew in the current time in their lives. “But she isn't pure evil.”

Simon was skeptical. It was written all over his face. Magnus understood why. But it was hard. So hard. “Not to doubt your word, but I need proof of concept on that one,” he said quietly.

Magnus swallowed. He could feel the young man’s eyes on him. He knew he was expecting an answer but it was… Magnus didn’t like talking about his past much. He liked talking about… people he’d met, people he’d loved, things he’d seen, but he didn’t talk about the feelings. The hardships. 

It was always a colorful tale, often of debauchery and culture and wine. He didn’t say that he’d met some of the people whose name he dropped because he was drinking away his sorrows. The context, and the feelings, didn’t matter. What mattered was the fleeting connection and the story that could be told. He wished every day of his life a happy, hedonistic story.

Sometimes, he managed to lie to himself long enough to forget the blood, the screams, the fear. To forget the despair, the numbness, and the grief that came with immortality. 

One day, Simon would know of these things. For now, his mind was still mundane. He still thought of now as the only thing that was true, and the past as stories in history books. 

“Not too many people know this,” Magnus started. His voice was quiet. He didn’t like this, but these were words he needed to say. He looked into Simon’s eyes and saw the wonder in them. He saw the openness, the simplicity and naiveté of the child he still somewhat was. “But when I was living in London, in the early 1870s, I was in a bad place.”

He remembered the celebrations of the signing of the First Accords. He remembered the numbness that was in the place of the joy. It had been an amazing victory for the Shadow Kinds. Yet he’d felt… empty. And he’d felt like he was done. 

He’d been convinced that he wasn’t supposed to live much longer, after the ink had dried on the paper. Over 200 years, that was already too much. He was already too tired. He couldn’t see past the end of the year. 

He’d felt the despair and the emptiness weighing on him. He’d felt them fill him up to the brim. They’d won, but he was empty, drained. He carried with him the deaths of his people, and the murders he’d committed to defend himself. They were too heavy. He’d known if he were to try to swim he would sink. 

“No matter how hard I tried I couldn't see my way out,” he whispered. He’d somehow waited it out, and he’d pushed himself. And then… December 8th had come. The knowledge that yet another year was stolen from someone and given to him had been unbearable. “Then on one particular stormy night I got as far as the ledge of Blackfriars Bridge.” The candles that lit the bridge were almost all snuffed out. Those that weren’t didn’t light the night enough. He couldn’t see the water but he knew it was there. 

“And if it wasn't for Camille…” He let his voice fade a little. Her hand, grabbing at his wrist. She’d almost forced him off of there. She had never been one to be gentle. “I wouldn't be here right now.” And with all of the bad she had done, with the hatred and the cruelty, and the horrors and the blood… all of that, in his mind, tended to fade in the background of the memory of her arms locked around him and her hand in his hair. “She was the only one who cared enough to stop me. She saved me.”

“Wow.” Simon’s voice was quiet. Incredibly so. “I always thought you were like the Energizer Bunny of warlocks.”

It made Magnus smile, that little… comparison. He knew the image he projected, to everyone and himself. 

“Most of the time I am,” he nodded. He didn’t really feel much lighter. It wasn’t about that though, it wasn’t about opening up to someone. It was about understanding. “But in my moments of weakness, I have my rock just as you have yours.” 

And no matter what, there was something in Camille that was immuable. Something he could always go back to. Something he didn’t know if he could manage without. 

“Clary.” Simon couldn’t help but smile.

“So now you see why it's not so simple,” Magnus whispered. Simon nodded. And Magnus knew that to the mortal, to the mundane mind, his choice of rock was hard to understand. There were many people that were much better than Camille. 

Magnus had taken time himself to understand it, but there was a truth about immortality, and what it meant to have immortal friends. Everyone had to survive. Everyone had done something that was morally reprehensible. Everyone had killed. He didn’t know a single immortal without a body count. And he knew that his own would shock many, starting with Simon.

———————————

Isabelle’s words kept running through Clary’s head. That, and the sight of Lydia, laying in an infirmary bed, with a broken arm. The pain and the shame on her face made Clary feel slightly uncomfortable. She didn’t think she should be ashamed of being injured. This culture was not something Clary liked that much. 

Maybe escaping it was right. Or maybe it wasn’t. The idea of being away from Izzy or Jace made Clary’s heart ache. Way more than it did not seeing her mother every day. It was crazy how much had changed in the last two months. 

Before all of this, Clary wouldn’t have thought twice about leaving everything behind. She would have missed Simon, but if Jocelyn and Luke had moved, she would have moved. She had been deeply attached to her mom and home. Now her home was the Institute. Izzy and Jace had been there for her while she was transitioning from mundane to Shadowhunter. And though her training was yet to be finished, this was where she belonged.

Clary reached up and touched the back of her neck. She could feel some tension gathering there, from the hunt for the demon, from the decision to stay… From everything. She walked towards her room. She was probably going to change and lay down for a few minutes. 

She sighed slightly and opened the door. Someone gasped, and turned around, and Clary looked up at the noise and motion. Her mother was standing inside of the room, looking startled. 

“You caught me being a helicopter mom,” Jocelyn said, “Making sure there are no monsters under your bed.”

Clary sighed. She could have checked her room herself, but she knew where the protection came from. She nodded slightly and smiled. She slid off the jacket she’d been wearing. She felt a bit heavy from the stress. 

“Well, given what that demon just did to Lydia, I don't blame you,” Clary replied, and stepped inside of her room. “I just saw her in the infirmary...”

She had grown to belong in this room, she realized. She still didn’t love the golden comforter, but that could be arranged. She’d put her art books and her easel and charcoals there. Her clothing had changed, and it was now hanging in the closet. She had some makeup and jewelry on a table. Shoes were on the floor and the room felt lived in. She slept well there. 

Jocelyn was almost at the door, but turned around. “How is she?” 

“She's hurt pretty badly,” Clary explained, putting her jacket on the back of a chair. She slid her stele out of her pocket and put it on the bedside table, like she now did every night. “But she's gonna pull through.” Healing runes, medics and Silent Brothers. Lydia was getting a very thorough treatment. She’d been so pale, Clary realized. 

Poor Lydia. Between Hodge’s betrayal and this, she seemed to regularly end up in the infirmary. The fact that Clary had yet to actually get injured was… unexpected. She’d thought she would have a bone broken by now. 

“It's nice to hear something positive,” Jocelyn muttered, and she resumed her walk to the door.

“Yeah,” Clary nodded. 

Clary watched her get to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. She looked at her dark red hair and she remembered the years they’d spent together in their loft over Brooklyn Antiquities. Chicken cacciatore and holiday dinners with the Lewis’. She remembered Elaine and Jocelyn getting coffee regularly and going on farmer’s market outings together when Clary and Simon played video games. 

Her life, her memories, they were so far away now. Now, Simon was a vampire, she was a Shadowhunter, and Elaine and Jocelyn hadn’t seen each other in months. Clary was pretty sure Jocelyn was supposed to be dead, to mundanes. 

Jocelyn was going to leave for Idris. There was nothing that could be done about that. Either Clary followed her, and tried to rekindle some sort of dynamic that had been obviously lost, or she stayed, with Izzy and Jace. She stayed and she kept on with the fight and the hunts, and her new life. 

The choice seemed easy, now that she truly thought about it. 

“Mom,” Clary called out. Jocelyn turned around again. “About Idris…” The look on her mom’s face was understanding. Jocelyn closed her eyes slightly, and Clary didn’t really need to say more. It was as if Jocelyn had known it would be like this, that Clary would choose to stay. Clary closed the distance between them and grabbed her mom’s hands. “There is a part of me that wants to come with you,” she assured, reassured, and she didn’t know if she was comforting herself or her mom. “But…” She took a deep breath. “I have to learn to stand on my own.” She let go of her hands and Jocelyn nodded. Clary decided to be entirely truthful. “And.... there are...  _ people _ here that I can't leave.”

Jocelyn smiled softly. “Is it your brother?” 

Clary swallowed. “Yes. And it’s… it’s Isabelle.” 

Her mom was silent for a moment and Clary felt young and small and like she just came out again. Jocelyn reached up and gently caressed Clary’s cheek. 

“A Lightwood,” she whispered. “You did not make an easy choice.” It was said in a tone that was only half joking. 

Clary nodded. “I know. I know how they are, how they reacted to Alec…” She sighed. “I don’t even know if Isabelle feels the same way. But I know I can’t leave right now. I can’t leave and… not see them again.”

Jocelyn smiled. “You’ve become… an adult. Where has my baby girl gone?” Her words were filled with some nostalgia-tinted softness. 

Clary didn’t reply. She didn’t want to tell her that her baby girl had left the second she’d had to kill to get her back. The second she’d realized her mom had lied to her for all her life. If she was honest, there was something broken between them, and no love could fix it. 

——————————

The door clicked shut and Magnus exhaled. He felt a bit bad for sending Simon and Raphael away like this. He felt bad for not telling them the truth, even if he had the feeling that they knew why he wanted to be alone. 

He didn’t want to have them around when he saw Camille again, and as he sent her away. He guessed he really didn’t want them to see their relationship. Or maybe he just wanted intimacy. Intimacy as he sent one of the most important people in his life to her death. He swallowed. His thoughts were dangerously grim tonight. 

The traps and failsafes were in place. Everything was ready. He turned and took the small box in his hand, looking at the dirt in it. It was ridiculous how big and important those specs of dirt were. To the trained eye, of course. 

The box was beautiful marqueterie work. Almost too simple in its colors and patterns for Camille. She’d always loved bling and gold and expensive and ornate things. Her dresses had been the most colorful and expensive possible, the fabrics more beautiful, fine and soft than anyone else’s. She made a point to always be better dressed and more regal than even the Favorites of the courts she attended. That attitude alone had been enough to cause many scandals. 

“My dearest Camille,” he whispered to the box and the dirt, feeling a little silly about his emotional display to what was nothing but earth. His brazen and entertaining Camille, with her desire for more, always more, and her knowledge of what was expensive and rare and worth attention. He took a deep breath. 

His motions weren’t slow and solemn, else his fingers would have shaken. He grabbed a handful of the dirt and threw it onto the carpet, in the very center of where he’d planned for the cage to go. She immediately appeared. 

“What the hell?” Her face was beautiful, if angry. She wore a red dress and red lipstick, her hair was full and styled expertly, and she looked absolutely annoyed to have been summoned in such an inappropriate manner. 

Of course she would be. Summoning her like this didn’t give her a choice. It wasn’t a text message or a letter, it was the pull of the magic that had kept her alive for the last… centuries. Or millenia. Magnus had never exactly managed to know how old she was. They both were experts at lying about it, even if she’d seen through him much more easily than he’d seen through her.

“It's only me.”

“Magnus.” She relaxed a little, and smiled at him. Her usual cold-ish, satisfied smile. Magnus wondered what she was thinking. Did she believe that he and Alec were done and Magnus was crawling back to her? He heard her heels against the floor as she took a couple of steps forward. 

He reached into the mortar and took another handful of powder. This time, not grave dirt, but a concoction for a very specific containment spell. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, and she didn’t have time to ask what he was doing. He threw the power in a circle, and she was suddenly trapped in a cage. 

The smile fell from her face. She glared at him with a savagery that was seldom directed to him. He swallowed. There was no getting out of this now. There was no pretending this wasn’t happening. But he still wanted to talk to her before he gave her away to them.

“Magnus,” Camille hissed. “Let me out of here!”

Her voice snapped in the silence and he winced, but he did nothing. She deserved this, he told himself. She’d done things that were not forgivable, crossed lines that she would never go back to. And he needed to stop letting his feelings for her keep him from doing something about it.

————————

Blood. Blood everywhere. His hands were coated with it. Alec wanted to puke, and he wanted to scream; but his body wasn’t really following with that. His eyes kept staring at his right hand. It was full of blood. Covered. From fingertips to wrist. 

He remembered walking and then he remembered nothing. And now the blood. His head was pounding, and his other hand was shaking. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t make it out, he couldn’t make out if it was a nightmare or reality.

He could smell it too. He knew what blood smelled like, and it was blood and it was almost overwhelming him. Demon ichor smelled different. This was blood. The blood of a person. On his hand. 

He heard a voice, a familiar one that was coming towards him but the words didn’t register in his mind. She stopped talking and walking when she saw him. His head weighed a thousand pounds when he looked up and saw Clary standing there, looking distressed. 

“Alec,” she said. Alec blinked at her. The aching of his body was getting more intense as it felt like he was coming back to it.

There was a bloody footprint on the ground. It matched the blood on his shoe. And the blood on his hand. Red and dark and shiny still. It hadn’t been long. He wasn’t injured himself. It was someone’s blood, someone else’s. 

“Alec?” She asked. She was looking at him, asking for what had happened but he had absolutely no idea. 

“What did I do?” His voice sounded so far away. Everything hurt. His body was… his body was in pain. As if he’d pushed himself past his limits without caring and was now dealing with the consequences of it. 

He followed Clary’s studying of the scene. The footprint, and the drops of blood that came from the bedroom. Clary’s bedroom, maybe. He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t even there. Was he? 

His entire body shuddered. He got himself up. His legs were shaking, the blood on his hand was getting everywhere but he had to see. Clary made a choked, ugly sobbing noise of shock, and he pushed himself to take a step.

She was now sitting on the floor, staring at something and he leaned against the doorway. Everything hurt. He was incredibly nauseous too. 

Jocelyn was laying on her side on the floor with a hole in her chest. His hand was covered in blood, her blood. Now he knew what happened. Possession. 

——————————

Camille glared at him from inside the cage. Magnus truly wished there was another way. He wished that he didn’t have to choose between her death and his child’s death. He wished the Clave’s armed justice didn’t use the death penalty. 

“Don't tell me you're doing the Clave's bidding because of your silly infatuation with that boy toy Shadowhunter,” Camille hissed, watching him as he walked around the cage, finishing little spells to make sure she couldn’t get out of it. 

Of course she would bring Alec into this. Camille couldn’t imagine the way he felt about Raphael. She had no such filial love towards anyone. She knew lust though. She knew lust and it was her only frame of reference for interactions between people. So she used it, and thought it was the rhyme and reason for every single one of his actions. 

“Alec has nothing to do with this,” Magnus pointed out. “This is between you and me.”

He knew she was going to remind him of something they’d done together before she even replied. “The same you and me who crashed Queen Victoria's coronation glamoured as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge?” 

Magnus didn’t regret those days, and he didn’t regret the fun of it all. He was just a different man now. He wasn’t drunk on wine and bad decisions and doing things simply for the entertainment of them anymore. He wasn’t the man that would have stolen the Crown Jewels to hang them around her neck. He wasn’t the man that would have framed others to make sure she walked free. 

It had been… almost two hundred years since the coronation. And it had been a hundred at least since he’d stopped being the man that was by Camille’s side as she burnt a trail of fire through courts and capitals. 

“Believe me, this wasn't an easy decision,” Magnus said, stopping to look at her. She was staring right back at him with her usual, perpetual smirk. He knew she thought it was one of their usual arguments. The ones where he would fight and she would manipulate him into staying and he would, because he loved her, and he would always love her. “But you crossed the line,” he added, aggravated. “I won't let Raphael suffer for  _ your _ bad deeds.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “So this is about one little insubordinate vamp?” One little insubordinate vamp. That was what she saw Raphael as. A rebellious thing that was useless now that he’d gone against her. A crooked cog in the machinery of her ascension to ever-growing power. 

“You've sired hundreds of vampires,” Magnus reminded her. “Your children.” This was why she could never understand. She didn’t see them, the vampires she’d sired as people, or as her children. She saw them as pawns. Or toys. “But as a warlock, I can have none,” Magnus couldn’t help but let his voice shake. Her eyes grew a little colder as he spoke. He knew why. He knew that she hated that argument, and she hated that he  _ loved  _ so many in such different ways. “The Downworlders I take under my wing, they are my children. My family.” 

She needed a reminder of that. She needed a reminder of who he was and had always been. She’d loved that he loved her, because he was hers. But that love that he gave her? He also gave to many others. She’d never understood that. The lack of permanence that came with immortality was her bliss. 

“I'm sorry, Camille. I'll do whatever it takes to protect him.” Even give her to the Clave. Even kill her. 

He turned away from her and started thinking of a portal. He was done. He had explained to her what he was doing and she’d refused to even show a tiny bit of a reason for him not to give her away. She’d kept with her cold, affectless, and selfish behavior, the kind that let Magnus know that she would never change. 

Her voice came quietly, but full of the sweetness she usually demonstrated when he was vulnerable. “The fear of loneliness has always been your Achilles' heel,” she said, and he turned back around, staring at her.

“Don't,” he ordered. He knew what she was doing. She was going back to the old argument, the old reason why they’d stayed in each other’s circles for much longer than they should have. The old reason why he kept coming back to her over and over. 

“You don't do well losing those you love, do you?” She reminded him. She was right. Of course she was right, she  _ knew  _ him. She knew him in ways more intimate than he could fathom. She knew exactly where his burdens lay, and where to push to get him to do what she wanted. It had worked, over and over again. “I'm the only one you can count on to be here for you forever. You know that.”

He did know that. He knew it with the same certainty he knew that the sun was shining during the day. He knew it with the same certainty he knew he was a warlock. He knew that if he let her, she would come to him in his moments of weakness and take his pain away. She’d done it before, over and over and over again. 

The worst thing was that Magnus could rely on Camille to never change and always be there for him. From the day they had met, the day she’d decided he was hers, to this very day, as he stood on the cusp of sending her to her death, Camille was there. She was poisonous too, and manipulative and too much, but she was there. And he’d spend the last centuries in the knowledge that she was there, always, if he called. Like a strange safety net. 

“That's why you love me,” she whispered, closer now. “And you always will.” She was right of course. He would always love her. His love didn’t have an expiration date. Not even death could keep him from loving, and that was why his mother’s death still hurt a little some days, and it was why he missed his lovers and partners, and it was why he missed his friends. 

“Choose me.” 

For a moment, he thought of it. If he chose her, Raphael and the Clan would die. She would go back to being the head of the New York Clan, and to reigning terror on the nights of the city. She would come back into his life, and after this altercation, she would surely be into his daily life again, there, poisonous and invasive. 

He would mourn Raphael as she laughed, and created den after den, drinking away her days and nights with blood and alcohol. And it would be his fault. 

“Enjoy Idris,” he whispered. Her smirk faded. For the first time since the day he had met her, he saw fear in her eyes. “I hear the weather's a delight.”

He turned away and created a portal. The terror on her face broke his heart into millions of shards.

“How could you?” She said, her voice breaking. “I thought you loved me.” He did love her. He just didn’t love her enough to excuse what would happen if he didn’t do what was right. “Don't do this!”

He closed his hand. He didn’t look as the portal closed and she disappeared. 

His legs were unsteady as he let himself slide to the ground and closed his eyes. Camille was gone. She was going to die. There was absolutely no going back from there, and he couldn’t help but hate himself. 

—————————

Jace’s head was still pounding with the pain that the Silent Brother had inflicted on him at his trial. He’d been dragged back to his cell an unknown number of hours ago, and the only thing he could think about right now, was that he was doomed. And no one was going to be able to help him. There was only so many times Magnus could leverage the Mortal Cup for a Lightwood’s life and safety. 

He was starting to fall asleep, he realized. It was the hallucinations that were starting up again that gave it away. He could hear screams of pain and the clashing of swords as people were fighting through the corridors of the City of Bones. 

The wet sounds of swords slashing through people was very recognizable. He stood up as he heard bodies falling against stairs and the clashing of metal got closer. He walked to the metal bars but could see nothing.

“Hodge, do you hear that?” he asked. It was the first time since their previous conversation that he actually addressed him, but he had to know what was going on. He had to know if they were going to die or if it was just a hallucination. 

“Yeah,” the man said from where he was sitting in the other cell. Fuck. There were people, murdering others, and they were distinctively coming towards them. 

“I was hoping it was another nightmare,” Jace mumbled. 

A Silent Brother came out of the shadows then, and there was something off about him. He was heavy. His footsteps were actually making noise against the ground, and that was never something that happened, with Silent Brothers. Jace swallowed.

_ Please _ . 

The voice that came into Jace’s head was indubitably weak. The Silent Brother tripped, and as he fell to his knees, Jace saw the seraph blade that was stuck, deep in between his shoulder blades.

_ Help us. _

He’d never heard a Silent Brother sound pleading before. The Silent Brother groaned in pain as he hit the floor and laid there, unmoving.

“What's happening?” Jace exclaimed, panicked, hoping that he would get an answer, but his head stayed empty. For the first time, he wished to hear the terrifying voice of the Silent Brothers.

“Grab his hand!” Hodge almost shouted as he shuffled from the floor to the door of their cells. “The lock release on our cells can only be activated if he's alive.” 

Jace did as he was told grabbing the Silent Brother’s hand. It was incredibly cold. He grabbed the arm as solidly as he could and pressed the palm against the stone that controlled the opening of it.There was a rune burnt into the skin of the back of the Silent Brother’s hand, and a skull ring on one of his fingers. Nothing happened.

“He's gone,”Jace sighed, and let go of the Silent Brother’s arm. He’d never seen a dead Silent Brother before. He never imagined they could really die. 

Hodge cursed under his breath next to him. They were going to die. Whoever was attacking the City of Bones, they were going to murder them inside of these cages. Jace stared at the Silent Brother for a moment. He opened his mouth to mutter ‘Ave Atque Vale’ but the agonizing scream of someone being killed resounded from where the Silent Brother had come.

Hodge shuffled back into the shadows and Jace stood up.

A man came out of the doorway. Bald and tall and clad in black, Jace recognized him immediately. Valentine. 

“An unfortunate loss,” Valentine said as he saw the body of the Silent Brother. “But he gave me no choice.” As he stepped out of the shadows the light of the candles played on the blade of the Soul Sword. It was covered in the blood of those that had been in Valentine’s path. “He wouldn't let it out of his hands.”

He walked closer and Jace inched backwards. Valentine reached down and took the seraph blade out of the Silent Brother’s back. Jace felt like puking. A Circle member started dragging away the body. Two others dragged in a bruised, struggling and captured man. 

Again, Jace had to wait until he was in the light to recognize who he was. Aldertree. He’d put up quite the fight it seemed, but it obviously hadn’t been enough. He was now a prisoner. Jace felt like screaming.

“Hello, Jonathan,” Valentine said, looking at him. Jace stopped searching for something from Aldertree and turned his attention back to his father. “You see what these people do to you when I'm not around to protect you?” 

“No,” Jace hissed. “I'm here because you made a son with demon blood.” 

Jace hated the disappointment in Valentine’s eyes. And he hated that he felt bad for disappointing his father. “Still so little appreciation after all I've done for you. You think it was easy, breaking in here to rescue you?” Valentine asked. He was hoping that Jace would apologize and be thankful. That was never going to happen. “It took effort. I set up a demon attack on the Institute as a diversion.”

Jace looked over at Aldertree. On the man’s face was shock, and dread. He hadn’t been there. Aldertree hadn’t been at the Institute and now they might all be dead. Even if Jace knew they were all amazing fighters… they might all be dead.

“You did what?” Aldertree asked, but Valentine ignored him. A part of Jace wanted to be glad that Aldertree seemed to care. 

“No, you're not here for me,” Jace looked at Valentine again. “You're here for the Soul Sword.” Jace knew Valentine only pretended to care about him. Or maybe he cared, but in a very specific and twisted way. Valentine cared for his son as his heir. As his weapon. As the… straw man of what it represented to have a family going into the world that he imagined was going to be his after he perpetrated horrible actions against innocents. 

“Son,” Valentine said, and Jace hated the way he called him that. As if Jace belonged to him. In the background, Aldertree was still struggling. “You have two options. Life in prison at the hands of the Clave, or you can come and fight with me and have purpose.” 

The firmness, the sureness in the way Valentine spoke was unbearable. He believed in the things he said. He adored his own doctrine. It wasn’t a great act of manipulation and the pure pleasure of having power, no, he believed in what he said.  _ A leader has to believe in what they say, or no one will.  _ Jace remembered those lessons.

“I guess jumping off the boat wasn't clear enough,” Jace replied, and took a step back. 

He saw the anger on the man’s face and memories of punishment almost pushed him forward again but he stayed strong. He held strong.

“Then we'll do it the hard way,” Valentine exclaimed. “Take him.”

Aldertree was dragged, groaning, to the door where his hand was forced against the lock. 

“Thank you for your assistance.” Valentine stood next to it and watched, smirking. He was right against Hodge’s cell door. 

Just as the metal bars of Jace’s cell door were retreating, Hodge struck. He grabbed Valentine, wrapped an arm around his neck and started pulling. He was weak and he was hurt but he pulled and pulled, decided to choke him there and then. For a moment, Jace thought it would work.

He didn’t have time to warn him. Valentine changed his grip on the seraph blade he was still holding and struck backwards, stabbing Hodge right through the eye and straight into his head. 

“Hodge!” Jace exclaimed, as he saw the man he’d considered a mentor fall backwards. 

Jace took the opportunity and grabbed the Soul Sword right out of Valentine’s hand. The Circle members holding Aldertree were distracted and Aldertree slithered out of their grip enough to punch one of them. Jace helped him with the other with one simple slash of the Sword. 

Despite its size, the Sword was good to use. Jace guessed it was part of the magic that animated it. There were two other Circle members, and though he was outnumbered, Jace defeated them in a few strikes. They both died impaled on the Sword.

He turned around. Valentine was standing there, unarmed, and it was perfect. Jace started walking towards him. He prepared himself to strike, pulling back his hand and putting all his strength behind his thrust. Valentine didn’t move. The thrust hit something, something invisible and Jace felt like he was being punched right in the gut.

He flew backwards, letting go of the Sword. The three men that were still standing were knocked down as well by the force of the backlash. 

“Thank you, Dorothea,” Jace heard Valentine say as he was trying to get back to his feet. “At least someone here understands the meaning of the word loyalty.”

He stood back up and felt himself weaker than before, as if the magical blow had turned off some of his runes. He caught sight of the warlock woman briefly before turning back to Valentine. He walked towards him again, hands balled into fists, ready to beat him with his hands if he had to.

Jace stopped as Valentine held the Soul Sword up to his neck. “Go ahead,” he breathed, without taking time to think. He didn’t want to think. “Kill me like you killed my falcon. Prove what kind of father you really are.” 

He saw the anger in Valentine’s eyes, and he felt some sort of victory. He’d gotten him to be angry and hurt somewhat. Confronted him to the reality of the father he was, one that would kill and punish for nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” Jace goaded. “Do it.”

Valentine was silent for a long time. Jace didn’t really want to die, at least he thought he didn’t. He just wanted to show him what he really was. Valentine was so convinced that he was a good father, a good man, on the right path. If he could show him the monster he really was, dying was a good price for it.

“Take my son,” Valentine finally said, giving the order to the two still alive Circle members. “Kill the other one.” he removed the sword from Jace’s throat and started walking away. 

One of the two Circle members let go of Aldertree and grabbed Jace’s arm. Behind him, he could hear Aldertree fighting for his life. He thrust his elbow into the Circle member’s face and started punching and kicking him. As the man stumbled backwards, Jace grabbed him and snapped his neck. 

He watched Aldertree, forced against the wall and struggling to push back the arm that was moving towards him, the seraph blade that was going to be thrust into his head and kill him.

The warlock opened a portal and Jace found himself in the middle of it. 

“Jace! Get the sword!” Aldertree shouted, as he struggled still, and seemed to be losing. 

Valentine was waiting for him. He was waiting for Jace to make a choice and it was obvious. Aldertree groaned behind him. Jace’s choice was almost too easy to make. 

He ran to Aldertree and saved his life. He let Valentine go.

——————————

The only thing that Clary could feel was anger. It was an overwhelming, destructive force. And she was glad she had it. She was going to obliterate this demon for killing her mom. She’d deal with Alec after. 

She had never really felt this way before. Simon’s death had been different. She remembered really sobbing. She had yet to shed a tear. She was just so angry, and vengeful, and she wanted the world to know it. She wanted to kill that demon, and then every other, until there wasn’t a single one left. 

“Please, let me do this,” Alec begged her as they walked through the corridors and into the training room. “You don't have to put yourself in danger. Not now.”

Clary didn’t listen to him. She was strong enough to kill the demon. She’d killed demons before, and she had had a lot more training since. And it was her mom the demon had killed not his. Which was very unfair, in her opinion. Maryse Lightwood was horrible. She had made Izzy feel bad about herself and she had made Alec feel like he wasn’t good enough. 

Izzy, just as Clary was thinking about her, came into the room. 

“Izzy,” Alec called out. “We need your help! Jocelyn's-” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence. 

Izzy was walking towards them when a cloud of black smoke came out of the grid that was on the floor. Alec gasped, next to her. Izzy didn’t realize what was happening. Before they had time to do anything, the smoke entered her mouth and when she opened her eyes again, they were jet black.

“It's inside her,” Clary whispered. Alec’s bow materialized out of nowhere, and Clary grabbed her own seraph blade. She was ready to strike. 

Something else that wasn’t supposed to happen, started happening. Clary hadn’t seen the possession happen before, but Alec had, on Raj earlier in the day. He remembered the fully black eyes and the unnatural behavior. He noticed immediately that something was wrong, when Izzy’s eyes started flickering.

They flickered from the unnatural, fully black with black sclera, to her usual dark brown with white sclera. It was not necessarily completely perceptible for people who didn’t know where to look, but Alec and Clary both noticed it. Only Alec knew it was abnormal. 

“What’s happening to her?” Clary asked, and suddenly, her voice was a bit scared again. 

“I don’t know,” Alec replied. “I think her body is rejecting the demon. It’s not supposed to be possible.” 

Alec opened the connection between the two of them. He opened it as wide as he could, and he found that Izzy had her side of it open as well. He felt it. She was fighting. She was fighting back, and the demon was losing. 

In front of them, Izzy fell to her knees and her mouth opened unnaturally wide,, dislocating her jaw. The demon slipped out of it and tried to escape again. Clary struck immediately.

The smoke transformed into somewhat of a humanoid shape. She ran towards it and slashed the cloud of black smoke with her seraph blade. “Go back to Hell where you belong!” she growled.

The smoke suddenly took a solid form and burst into flames, falling to the floor and disappearing. Alec looked at her for a second, dazed and surprised; before focusing on his sister. 

Izzy was laying on the floor, unmoving. He ran to her and wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as he activated her iratze. She was unconscious, but she was alive, and breathing. She was just exhausted, and she would probably be in pain from the jaw dislocation later on. 

Clary stumbled back. It all came crashing down on her. Her knees buckled and she sat onto one of the benches and waited. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, and she didn’t know how long she was going to wait. 

Footsteps came resounding out of the corridor and two silhouettes appeared. Jace and Simon. Jace was okay. He was free. And Simon was here. She barely looked at them, her eyes lost as it came crumbling down. Her mom was dead. Izzy was in a bad state. Nothing was right. 

“I… I’m gonna need you to sit Shiva.” 

Simon nodded. Jace went to Izzy. Alec and he carried her away to the infirmary. Clary stayed there. She sat. And she waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 12, Dust and Shadows part 1!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	12. Dust and Shadows Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> The world might be in lockdown, but trust that Dive is still updating!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 1 of Dust and Shadows!
> 
> This contains the same content as the show, so warning for self-harm and death of a parent. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The tension of the string was perfect, tight and tiring for his muscles. He purposefully kept himself from letting go of the arrow immediately as he was supposed to. He opened his hand, but not enough. The string deepened the wounds that were already there. The arrow flew through the night. 

He didn’t even watch where it was going. He just reached into his quiver for another one. He’d lost count of how many arrows he’d shot. The only thing that mattered was the solid repetition of motions and the sharp ache in his hand whenever he shot an arrow, an ache that tended to dull when the arrow flew. 

It exploded in the sky. Another, and another. They all exploded. His fingers were bloody from the string’s metallic pull; over and over. He even let it hit his forearm, like an elastic band that kept snapping against his arm. Of course the jacket and shirt he wore provided some cushion, but he had been there for hours. It wasn’t enough anymore. 

It was just what he deserved anyway. He just needed to stay there and stay away. What he’d done was unforgivable. No matter what Clary said, or didn’t say, he could feel it in his bones. That was the kind of offense that should get him arrested and thrown into a City of Bones cell forever.

He took another arrow and slid it into the bow. He pulled it back, and aimed at… nothing. He was about to let it go when he heard it.

“Alec.”

He pivoted. His muscles were shaking with exhaustion. Izzy was standing there. Everything about her face read seriousness and worry and he hated it. She’d just come out of the infirmary. She should be resting.

“Move,” Alec replied.

“How long have you been up here?” Izzy asked, looking at him. Her hair was up, for once. She looked tired. 

“You should be in bed. Resting. You were possessed,” he looked at her. He wished he could get his arms steady, without putting down his bow.

Izzy looked at him, crossing her arms. “So were you. Stop beating yourself up.”

“I'm not.” His voice broke. Alec hated it. He hated the weakness that was wrapping around his voice and in his mind. He wanted the world to stop turning as he hid away from it. All his troubles would melt away.

“I opened the connection, Alec,” Izzy replied. Alec swallowed. She was probably feeling the ache in his fingers. And the numbness and the helplessness. All of the things he wished could disappear in the blink of an eye. “What happened with Jocelyn, that wasn't you. That was the demon.”

“Just, Izzy, get out of the way.” Alec hated that his voice sounded like he was begging now. He hated it. 

“We both know you won’t shoot me,” Izzy whispered and she took a step closer. Alec’s hand kept shaking, maybe even more than it had before. “Let’s go back inside, you and I. We can get rid of this, in the training room, just… please. I don’t like knowing you’re alone here.” 

Alec cringed. But the shaking in his hand became too much and he put down his bow. He stared at the ground. He was useless, empty, he belonged in the City of Bones for his crimes. 

“Inside? That's the last place I want to be.”

Alec shook his head and moved towards the edge of the roof. Isabelle moved, following him. She wasn’t wearing heels right now. She must be sick, Alec thought. She was wearing some of her old combat boots. She’d worn them during training, in the classes where the teachers didn’t let her wear heels.

“We can deal with this,” Izzy said. “Please. We can talk about it and everything will be okay.”

“Izzy,” Alec snapped. “It won’t be okay. I…She’s Clary’s mother, and… and Jace’s. Jace’s mother, I did that, I was the one that took her from him!” He said angrily. His voice was breaking again, from the anger and from the pain. He could barely even look at her in the eyes, and she expected him to walk back inside and talk to Jace and Clary, as if nothing had happened. 

“Nobody blames you,” Izzy whispered.

Alec huffed. He wished he could believe her but he didn’t. And it seemed like she wasn’t going to stop talking to him. She was going to keep trying to get him to open up, telling him that it would be alright. It wouldn’t. And he knew it wouldn’t, and he just needed her to stop pretending. 

He reached for his stele and activated the Sure-Footed rune on his wrist. 

“They should,” Alec mumbled, and he leapt. 

Izzy screamed behind him but he didn’t listen. He leapt from the rooftop of the Institute and landed perfectly. He didn’t look back. He just started running towards the city. He didn’t know where he was going. 

\-----------------

Despite Clary’s wishes, it was impossible for her and Simon to actually sit Shiva correctly. Clary and Jocelyn hadn’t been Jewish, but Simon’s family’s Judaism had been the only real culture Clary had known growing up. They’d been invited to all the holidays and she’d spent many Shabbats with them. So it had been normal for her to turn to that familiar thing when faced with her mother’s death. 

The Clave had taken over, and Jocelyn’s death was going to be dealt with in the Nephili way. All Simon could really do was give Clary a Mourner’s Kaddish. And the k’riah. 

She knocked at the door of the boathouse and Simon rushed to her immediately. While he went back home and prepared, she’d been asked to stay at the Institute and deal with the funeral preparations. He hated that he couldn’t be there for her, but he’d already broken the rules by getting into the Institute when Alec had texted him. 

She hugged him tightly. She wasn’t crying, but he could tell she was close to it. She was wearing a t-shirt under her flannel shirt. It seemed like a lot, but he’d told her that he would need to tear a layer if she wanted something more than a little prayer. She’d agreed. 

He hugged her for a while, before letting go of her. He closed the door of the boathouse behind her and ushered her to the two chairs and the candle he’d taken out. He was wearing his kippah. His tallit hadn’t survived the burial. 

He had to admit it felt strange to put his kippah back on, for the first time after dying and coming back as a vampire. But Jocelyn’s death was certainly the occasion for it. 

Before she sat down, he gently stopped her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Simon asked softly. 

Her eyes were brimming with tears when she nodded and replied: “Yes, please.” 

Simon nodded. Usually, it was someone that had actual authority in the community that did this, but in this situation, he was that person. Him, an 18 year-old Jew, was the elder and the scholar out of the two of them. 

He took a deep breath and let go of her shoulders. “Grab your shirt, and repeat after me, alright?” 

Clary nodded and reached up to grab a tearable part of her shirt. 

Simon took a deep breath. “ _ Baruch Atah Adonai _ ...” She repeated after him, tongue stumbling over the foreign sounds. “ _ Eloheinu Melech ha-olam _ …” He could see the tears threaten to overflow. “... _ dayan ha-emet _ .”

On that, she tore a large gash into her shirt, right above her heart. And she started crying. She stumbled into Simon’s arms and buried her face against his shoulder and he felt tears rising in his eyes as well. He swallowed them. He had to be strong for her. He couldn’t cry, he had to be her rock in this hard time. 

They stayed this way until she managed to stop crying. He gave her some water, and they sat down on the chairs, in front of the candle. 

Simon had printed out the Mourner’s Kaddish in a transliterated version so Clary could say it as well. He lit the candle on the table in front of them. It was a small candle with a sticker that read ‘Remember’ and a Star of David. Clary took the paper with the Mourner’s Kaddish text in her hand. The paper shook with her fingers.

“ _ Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba, _ ” they started. Clary’s voice shook with every word, breaking over and over but she was focused on the words, and she tried very hard to keep going.  _ “b’alma di v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon uv’yomeichon uv’chayei d’chol beit Yisrael, baagala uviz’man kariv, v’im’ru: _ **_Amen.”_ ** Her voice broke then, and Simon knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep going. 

So he kept on. “ _Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach l’alam ul’almei almaya._ _Yitbarach v’yishtabach v’yitpaar v’yitromam v’yitnasei, v’yit’hadar v’yitaleh v’yit’halal sh’mei d’kud’sha b’rich hu, l’eila min kol birchata v’shirata, tushb’chata v’nechemata, daamiran b’alma, v’imru:_ ** _Amen.”_** Clary seemed to join him on the ‘Amen’s. Simon reached over and took her hand in his as he finished the prayer. 

_ “Y’hei sh’lama raba min sh’maya, v’chayim aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’imru:  _ **_Amen,”_ ** Simon kept going. Clary’s eyes were closed and tears were running down her face. He quickly realized that tears were running down his cheeks as well. “ _ Oseh shalom bimromav, Hu yaaseh shalom aleinu, v’al kol Yisrael, v’imru:  _ **_Amen.”_ **

Silence settled in the room. Only the wind, howling against the metal sheets of the boathouse walls, broke it. If he had still been human, Simon would have had goosebumps. 

“Luke should have been there,” Clary breathed out eventually. “I… I can’t get ahold of him. Whenever he goes out of town, he always tells me. I'm worried.”

It was very like Clary, to just focus on someone else’s pain instead of her own. Of course she was thinking of Luke. Simon let go of her hand and sighed softly. 

“Your mom meant everything to him,” he pointed out, and he saw her close her eyes for a moment, obviously in immense pain. Simon understood. He remembered when his dad had passed away. He’d been young, but he still remembered it. He remembered his family around the casket in the cemetery and the rabbi. And he remembered the way his mother had been broken. Luke needed… he needed that. “He probably just needs time to process.” 

“It’s just…” Clary sighed heavily, he could sense the weight of her sorrow in her sigh. It hurt Simon to see her this way, to see her… in such incredible pain. “It feels so final… When you died, I was Wrecked.” Maybe it was this situation, or maybe it was the memory but her voice broke again. “Devastated,” she added. 

Simon swallowed. It was hard to imagine her like that. And it was hard to know he had, in some way, caused her to be hurt that way.

“I-” Clary stumbled on her words, trying to follow her train of thoughts without letting the tears in her eyes and voice win. “I couldn't think of life without you. But it wasn’t final… I got you back. Simon. You were dead, but then you came back.”

Simon sighed. No matter how much he could resent Clary for bringing him back, he understood. Maybe he would have done the same for her. Maybe. Surely. And he understood that now she didn’t have the same opportunity with her mom. “Well, yeah, but-” 

“What if we could get my mom back?” Clary suddenly stopped, dead in her tracks, looking up at him. There was some sort of hope in her eyes and he hated it immediately. He shook his head and opened his mouth but Clary didn’t give him time to speak. “Okay, but in this insane world we suddenly live in, things that I never thought could happen do happen, so maybe there is a way. Maybe… Maybe we can get her back.”

Simon swallowed, hard. She wasn’t talking about choosing not to kill him. She was talking about bringing Jocelyn back to life. It was different. When he’d died, he’d been in a state where he either was killed, or he came back to life, and she had decided that she wouldn’t kill him, that he would come back. He would have come back had she not been there too.

“Clary, I... I know how much you loved her. But sometimes there are things you just... You have to accept.”

“No.” He saw it in her eyes then, he saw the… almost crazy streak of hope. And he knew… he knew he wasn’t going to win this. “I am not ready to accept this.”

\--------------------

Magnus should have expected this. When he’d heard of Jocelyn’s passing, he should have expected that Clary would follow, making demands, wanting the rules of life and death and the universe to bend to her will. It was quite like her. It was the kind of trait that, often seen as a virtue, was easily a vice, when that drive and determination and passion led to this. 

It was regrettable that Jocleyn had passed, truly. She would have proven really useful in the fight against Valentine and she would have been able to guide Clary into the Shadow World a bit more. And there was the whole thing with Alec. That was maybe the worst part for Magnus. He couldn’t imagine what Alec must be feeling now.

“Absolutely not,” Magnus said firmly after closing the door behind Clary and Simon with his magic. He should have closed the door to their faces but he was too nice to do that. 

“Is it possible?” Clary asked, and Magnus could already feel himself getting a headache. Even if it was a slightly good idea, this wasn’t something that they should do. This was the balance of life and death, this was… wrong. This was them going out of their way to bring someone who was supposed to be dead back to life. “Magnus, tell me, can it be done? Yes or no?”

“Sure,” Magnus huffed, turning around and looking at her. He felt cruel almost, to rip her hope away from her like this, but that was something he could not allow. “There are warlocks who've done this sort of thing. But what you're talking about is dark, dark magic. It's wildly unpredictable.” He tried to make sure that she understood what he was saying. No magic was truly ‘dark’ in the sense that it was evil. But the magic that was used to manipulate life or death was wild. It required incredible amounts of power, and an incredibly steady hand. And few warlocks had both, and the desire to get into such waters as necromancy. You never knew what the payback was. 

“Have you ever done it before?” Simon asked, and Magnus sighed. 

“No,” he replied, and none of them knew he was lying. He’d dabbled, of course. Under Asmodeus’ tutelage, there was no such thing as caring for the balance of life and death. There was only what you wanted. “And don't encourage this,” he pointed out, before going back to Clary. “Biscuit, I'm sorry. I know how important she was to you,” he said, lowering his voice to a comforting tone, and gently touching her arm. 

Like this, with the pain and hope in her eyes, the determination and the torn shirt, she looked… dangerous. Clary was the portrait of someone who would do anything that she wanted, selfishly throwing caution to the wind. Magnus hoped he could keep her from the dangerous path she was starting down.

“She was my mom,” Clary replied, an accusation in her tone. She was telling him that he should understand that of course Jocelyn had been important, she had been her mom. How dared he even think of trivializing what she was going through? “If you were me,” she kept going, and Magnus almost winced, “if we were talking about your mom-” 

“I wouldn't bring her back,” Magnus snapped, and he only then realized that he had been very intense in his reply. 

Clary’s entire world-view seemed to come to a crashing halt. Poor child, Magnus couldn’t help but think as she blinked, looking at him with confusion and a sort of fear of what he was going to tell her had happened between him and his mother that he wouldn’t throwaway the laws of the universe to get her back. “I don't understand.”

Magnus sighed. There had been much more opening up about his past in these last few days that he had expected, or wanted. But well, if it kept the children from making terrible mistakes… 

He took a deep breath. “I was nine years old when my mother realized what my cat eyes meant,” he said slowly. “She couldn't live with the fact that she bore the son of a demon.” Clary was staring at him still. Magnus swallowed. He hated talking about these things. “So she took her life,” he looked down and shifted, eyes falling onto the blade that was displayed on his coffee table. A bit morbid maybe. “With this very keris.”

If he tried to imagine his mother back to life, now in the 21st century, looking at him, her demonic son, he could only see her screaming. She’d been kind and soft and beautiful until she’d seen his eyes, and until someone had told her that he was… the son of a demon. She’d never seen him in the same way.

“I'm so sorry. I didn't know.” 

Of course she didn’t. Few did. It wasn’t something Magnus went around singing about. He’d had a hard enough time dealing, or rather not dealing, with it. He saw the way Simon was looking between him and the keris, realizing that he’d tried to open the box of Camille’s grave dirt with the very blade that had killed Magnus’ mother. Awkward indeed.

“It was a long time ago,” Magnus waved the apologies and condolences away. “And over time, it... It got easier. Never easy, but easier.” That was all he could promise really. The pain of losing family was always hard to shake off, but there was no other way to keep going. 

“Your mother loved you,” Magnus added, and gently touched her shoulder again. “She only wanted to protect you at all costs. So much so that she had me remove your memories,” he reminded, and it seemed like Clary wasn’t really happy to be told that. But it was the truth. Jocelyn would have done anything to protect her, no matter what Magnus thought or advised. He somewhat hoped that Clary listened more. 

“Since we can't get those back…” 

Magnus reached up and into his mind. He felt, as tendrils of magic selected the memory that he wanted to give, the image that he hoped would keep Clary from doing something she would regret. When he opened his eyes, there was a picture in his hand, a polaroid. Clary and Jocelyn, laughing. 

“Take one of mine,” he offered, and gently gave her the card. They looked happy in the picture. Clary was wearing something that she regretted ever wearing, but her smile was unmistakable. And so was her mother’s. 

“Oh, my God,” Clary whispered. “When was this?” 

“The day I met you,” Magnus explained. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Jocelyn had run in and begged for him to take Clary’s memories away. “The first thing I noticed is that you both share the same smile.”

Clary couldn’t stop staring at the picture. It was obvious that it meant a lot to her, now that it had been given. Memories of a lost one were especially precious, and Magnus knew that better than anyone else.

“Losing your mom,” Magnus sighed. “It's not something you make better with magic. You just head straight into it and cry your eyes out.” He could see the line of her mouth trembling and he could see her trying to hold back the tears. It was a show of strength, of course, but now was not the time for a show of strength. Now was time for grief and pain, and tears. And there was nothing to be ashamed of. 

She swallowed and barely nodded at him, walking away and out of the door. Simon mumbled a thank you and ran after her, and Magnus sighed. He was done. He’d done what he needed to do and he didn’t know how much more he could do. It was, after all, her decision. And grief, especially for someone so young, could make living life difficult, and could make even the craziest of options seem rational. 

She had Simon, and she wasn’t going to go through this without someone to talk to. That was the only thing Magnus really could see making an impact. 

\-------------------------------

Jace was standing, in rest position, in the back of the group of assembled Shadowhunters when Izzy walked in. She’d had to use some of her yin fen before she came down, and she was starting to hate the relief, more and more. At first, it had been heavenly, like the Angel’s caress upon her skin, but now, she hated the craving. She understood why it was seen as such a serious issue. 

She couldn’t go through withdrawal yet though. She couldn’t make herself go through that, now that they were on such high alert. She had to take it upon herself. She’d make time when she had time. 

Aldertree was standing on one of the steps leading to the platform, and he gave her a bit of a look when she walked in. She truly had stopped caring about what he thought now. Maybe it was a bad idea, but he’d betrayed her trust, and he hadn’t even been here during the attack of the Institute. He didn’t deserve her respect. 

“During the attack on the City of Bones,” Aldertree spoke out, before walking down the steps and into the small crowd. “Jace Morgenstern fought bravely, and thus the Clave, in their wisdom, has exonerated him from all crimes.” From what Jace had told Izzy, he’d saved the asshole’s life. There was no wisdom, just fairness. “And the chief physician in Idris reports that Lydia Branwell's condition continues to improve.” That wasn’t bad news. Lydia was better than Aldertree, all things considered.

“Out of the infirmary in record time,” Jace mentioned, looking at her. “You're looking good, for someone that fought off a possession.”

Izzy shot him a smirk. “I always look good.” She wasn’t replying to the comment about fighting off possession. She didn’t know how she’d been able to do that. It seemed like the demon hadn’t been able to get a good enough grip on her. Or like its grip kept slipping away, allowing her to fight for control.

“Why isn't Alec here?” Jace asked, looking a bit around them.

“He’s not dealing with this well.” Izzy replied, but kept it at that. Jace knew what she meant.

As they chatted, Aldertree was still talking. “We face a new threat. Valentine has the Mortal Cup, and now possesses the Soul Sword, two of the three Mortal Instruments. Our mission now is to find out what he plans to do with them and when.” 

People around them were staring, and Izzy noticed the way Jace shifted a little under their gaze. She sighed. “You okay?” She whispered. She didn’t really want them all to hear. They were so… caught up in their own hatred of Jace and what he’d been accused of doing that they were acting very inappropriately.

“I'm fine,” Jace replied, and she could tell he wasn’t exactly being truthful. He was alright, maybe, but she’d seen him walking in the infirmary in the middle of the night to get some sleeping pills. He hadn’t slept well. “But apparently no one else is, judging by the way they're all looking at me.” 

Izzy bit her lip and turned her head to watch him. ”Jace, I'm sorry for letting them take you to the City of Bones. I thought -” She didn’t have time to finish her guilt-filled apology. He was already shaking his head.

“It's all good, Izzy. “

They focused back on Aldertree. “Tomorrow night's rite of passage will bring the total number of dead to 26 fallen Silent Brothers and three Shadowhunters,” he explained. That was… 29 dead in only over a couple of days was rare. There were never these kinds of battles that took so many lives, not since the Uprising. “Take this time to grieve and plan for what lies ahead. Your orders will follow.”

At that, everyone started walking off to different parts of the Institute, to do their job. 

“I’ll keep an eye on Clary,” Jace muttered. “She’s just come back to the Institute.” 

Izzy nodded and left to see what work she could do while waiting for Alec to come back. She couldn’t go after him, and she didn’t want to, anyway. It was obvious he needed space. Hopefully, he would find himself with someone who could help him, like Magnus. 

\-------------------

The colored glass panels of the windows of the room bathed the entirety of it in an orange sunset light. It was strange, almost too beautiful for the solemness of the room where the bodies of the fallen Shadowhunters were being kept. The three bodies were covered by white linen shrouds. 

It wasn’t the first time that there had been dead bodies in this room, but it was the first time that there was his mother’s. Jace didn’t know how to deal with that. 

Clary had pulled the shroud back to unveil Jocelyn’s face, and she was sitting by her side, talking quietly to her, as if Jocelyn could talk back. It was a painful sight. Jace wished he could take Clary’s pain away. But he didn’t know how. The only way he knew to deal with pain was a good fight. Maybe he could take her into the sewers at night so they could hunt together and make the feelings go away. He didn’t know if Clary would enjoy it.

White candles had been lit, and the two Silent Brothers who were guarding the bodies wore specific ceremonial robes, with a pure white sash. 

Jace walked into the room and to where Clary was sitting by the table on which Jocelyn’s body rested. Her hair was dark red, like Clary’s shirt, and the color of the light made her skin look as if she was alive. But she was not. None of them were.

“Hey,” he said, his voice resounding in the silence of the mourning room. “You okay?” 

Clary looked up at him and her eyes were unreadable. She was closed off, and it was hard to see. She wore a blue flannel shirt over her red t-shirt, and it was clashing a bit. There was a tear in the left side, over her heart. Jace didn’t question it. Maybe she had a mundane way of mourning that he wasn’t aware of.

“I'd be a lot better if people quit speaking in quiet voices and telling me it's okay to grieve,” Clary replied, exasperation clear in her tone.

Jace nodded. “Fair enough.” He could understand that. If Clary was anything like him, grief and quiet mourning weren’t her style. She was going to fight her way through the next… few months or few years. And then, when every person and demon she held responsible was dead and gone, she was going to blow up and scream and sob violently until she felt like an empty husk of a person.

“I don't know why,” Clary started, her eyes lost in the void, her voice… almost empty suddenly. “I just don't feel much of anything right now.” Jace swallowed. He knew what was happening. She was refusing to feel. She was refusing to get that her mom was truly dead. Holding onto some sort of… denial that she believed was hope. “Emotions cloud judgment, right?” She muttered.

Jace regretted ever telling her about that, about the supposed way to live a Shadowhunter life. He knew now that it was all a lie. Those were things that Valentine had taught him to have better control over him. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

“Clary,” Jace sighed, moving and reaching for her hand. There was no Remembrance rune there. He would probably need to teach her about that one. He wasn’t looking forward to it. “I spent my whole life fighting my emotions. Look where it landed me.”

She sighed and grabbed his hand back. “You just lost your mom, too,” she whispered, as if only now thinking about it. He couldn’t blame her for forgetting. It was so new for both of them. “What do you feel?” 

Jace opened his mouth, and didn’t say anything, for a while. He’d hated Jocelyn, for abandoning him. He’d hated her for not giving him a chance. And then she’d come to try and save him from the Clave, when he was being chased by both them and the werewolves. She’d tried to help, even if she was mistaken and even if he’d refused her help. 

He had no reason to hate her anymore. But he had no real reason to love her. So he was stuck. He was stuck in this… neutrality. Stuck having never been able to love her. Clary would forever be the only bond he had to her, outside of the rare times they’d seen each other. When she’d tried to kill him, and when she’d tried to save him.

And Jace knew, through all of that confusion and lack of great grief, that the question was also Clary’s. She needed to know what he felt. She needed a guide in this, and she was turning to him to let her know what she should be feeling. That was too great a burden. 

“I don't know,” he finally said and looked down at the face of the woman that he had to call mother. The woman who’d given life to him. The woman who’d left him for dead. “I thought I'd be able to get to know her,” he whispered. “And she'd get more time to know me… as more than just an experiment gone wrong.” Jace swallowed heavily . “I,” he stumbled. “I just figured we'd get more time.”

That was it, really. He felt empty, not because he was in such pain that feeling things wasn’t possible. He felt empty because there was nothing for him to feel. No pain other than some sort of empathy pain for Clary. The way she looked at him, and the things he saw in her eyes, her brokenness. He didn’t feel them, but… he wanted to take them from her. To share the burden with her. 

He was called to work then. And he wished he could stay for longer and take care of Clary, but he left her behind, sitting still next to the body of the woman Jace should have loved. 

He didn’t see Clary straighten up and walk out of the room. He didn’t see her hesitation as she stopped in the middle of the ops room and walked, after a moment of thought, to one of the panels with which she could access files. 

She typed “Warlock Case Files”, and the screen gave her access to all the case files of warlocks in New York that had done something against the Institute and the Clave. 

The first warlock on the list was Lin Yuan Yuang, and if she had the dark magic credentials that Clary was searching for, her specialities seemed to be more in the healing category. And she was incarcerated in the City of Bones. From there, she wouldn’t be able to perform the magic Clary needed her to perform, and Clary would have to put her visit on record. 

Then was Magnus, and though he had a strangely impressive list of offenses, he was not what Clary was looking for. 

The third one was Floretta Camp, and not only was she a botanist, but she had a good standing alliance with the Clave, and had gotten an award for following the rules. That was definitely not the profile she needed .

The fourth one was the right one. Iris Rouse. Known necromancer, dark magic user, and over 700 years old. Powerful, and exactly what Clary wanted and needed. And she lived in Brooklyn. 

Clary copied the address into her phone, closed the research tab and walked away. She had her mom to bring back. 

\-------------------

The house in which the warlock lived was enormous. It had three floors and many windows, and was maybe three times the width of the building in which Clary had grown up. Clary swallowed, and walked into the little yard of the house, going directly to the door. She didn’t want to stop and hesitate. She had to do this. For her mom, for herself and for Jace. They both needed Jocelyn.

She knocked at the door, and for a moment, she almost hoped that no one would be home. The door opened anyway, and a woman stood behind it. She had the same hairdo as her picture on her case file. Shadowhunters were up to date, Clary thought vaguely before nodding at the woman.

“Look at this,” the warlock said, sarcastic and unsurprised. “A  _ Shadowhunter _ on my doorstep.” The way she said Shadowhunter made Clary’s skin crawl. The sheer dislike in her tone… Maybe coming here hadn’t been that good of an idea. “Oh, let me guess. You're heartbroken and you want some fabulous boy to love you again.”

She didn’t mention she was gay, she didn’t pick up on the disdain, she just looked at the warlock woman. “Can you raise my mother from the dead?” Clary said, simply, loudly. “She just died, and she-” 

“Oh, God,” Iris Rouse gasped then. “you poor child. Oh. I am so sorry. For your loss. And also for my big mouth. How recently did she pass?” 

Clary looked at her. She felt a little confused, a little dazed, at the sudden change of tone. She appreciated it, partly. She was also tired of the whispers and condolences. She was tired of being called a poor girl, a poor child, or having people act like she was made of glass and unable to deal with things as they whispered around her.

“Two days ago,” Clary sighed. She took a deep breath. No matter the risks, she needed her mom back. And this woman could give that to her, couldn’t she? “I know this is considered dark magic,” Clary started, preparing the field for what she was going to ask. This was something that had gotten Iris Rouse sent to the City of Bones before. Something even Magnus wouldn’t do. “but-” 

“"Dark magic" is a term used by warlocks who are afraid of their own powers,” Rouse interrupted, a proud smile on her face. “For someone like me who can harness those powers, all magic is equal.” 

That sent a wave of relief through Clary’s body. Iris Rouse was willing to do this. And she seemed proud of doing it. It seemed nothing like the almost fearful way Magnus had refused to even consider bringing Jocelyn back to life. It seemed… right. At least for Clary. 

“So you’re willing to do it?” Clary asked. “It’s possible to bring the dead back to life?” 

Iris Rouse looked at her with a smirk. One Clary would have found maybe unsettling if she’d been thinking about something other than hugging her mom so hard that she bruised. And then they’d go to Idris. She should have agreed in the first place anyway. It wasn’t worth it. She needed to spend as long as she could with her mom. Every moment was important.

The woman looked towards the garden suddenly and Clary frowned. What was happening? Was she focusing? Iris Rouse looked at her again, and started walking towards the grass area of the yard, in front of the house.

“Poor thing flew straight into that window this morning,” she pointed out as they walked to where the corpse of a crow laid. Clary swallowed. Poor thing indeed. “He smacked it so hard, we heard it from upstairs. Must have died instantly.” 

Clary looked up at the window, trying to see where the crow had slammed into it. She didn’t see any impact mark. She did see a little girl though, standing behind the window and watching her.  _ We _ . So there were other people here, not just Iris. That was unexpected. It was hard to imagine a warlock with a family. She knew Magnus, and Magnus had seemed to be… very single, before Alec. Dot had always seemed to be alone except for her connection to Clary and her mom. And there was Ragnor, who was a hermit. 

She turned her attention back on Rouse. The warlock had picked up a feather from the fallen bird. She held it up, in the wind, in the direction of the sun and took a deep breath. She spoke in Latin, and Clary wasn’t able to truly pick up on what she was saying. Despite the phenomenal amount of power that she was probably using, there was a serenity about it all.

The corpse of the bird disappeared from the grass. A loud caw resounded, and blue magic surrounded the feather she held in her hand. Within seconds, the crow, alive, was standing on the fingers of the warlock. It flew away, and Clary… couldn’t believe it. 

She’d seen a lot of things that she wouldn’t have thought possible but somehow, this? This was even bigger. And if the bird could fly away, then her mother could walk again.

“So to answer your question,” Rouse smiled. “Yes. It is possible and I’m very much willing.”

“Thank you,” Clary breathed out.

The woman nodded and gently put her hand on Clary’s shoulder. She guided her inside, past the beautiful wooden door. The inside of the house looked more like a living place than a doctor’s practice. There were plush carpets and flowers. It was warm and homey and definitely not hygienic.

“I have never seen a doctor's office like this,” Clary breathed out. “Do you live here, too?” 

Rouse nodded. “Upstairs,” she pointed at the ceiling. “On the third floor. The second floor is reserved for my warlock practice. And down here is where I try to prolong the precious lives of the mundanes. Keeps a gal busy,” she chuckled. Clary smiled as well. 

The woman was almost… comfortable to be around. There was still this specific off-feeling that Clary associated with Downworlders like warlocks and seelies. The feeling that they were… not from the right time. Not human. More than Shadowhunters and vampires and werewolves, the warlocks and seelies were… different. Off.

The little girl Clary had seen through the window then came running into the hallway. She stood by Rouse’s side, shy, looking at Clary with wide, suspicious eyes. Clary smiled at her, slowly getting to her knees to be at the same height as the little girl. She must not have been older than six.

“Hey, there,” Clary said softly, and looking at her. “What's your name?” 

The girl was silent, just staring at Clary with her wide, dark eyes. Rouse got to her knees as well, and gently patted the girl’s shoulder. 

“This is Madzie,” she introduced, for the girl.

“Hi, Madzie,” Clary smiled. She’d never been amazing with kids, but she’d been much better than some of her friends. And strangely, better than Jocelyn. Jocelyn had been terrible with kids that weren’t Clary. The girl barely even smiled at her.

“Honey,” Rouse whispered, looking at the little girl tenderly. “Why don't you go ask Leigh to give you a cookie? You tell her I said it was okay.”

Madzie nodded and ran away quickly, deeper into the house. Leigh. So there were more than the two of them. Three. And now four, counting Clary. That was very interesting. Clary just kept adding to the list of how different Iris Rouse was from Magnus, and the other warlocks she knew. She didn’t seem to keep her magic as secret as Magnus did. She didn’t seem to have the same caution, about everything that was in the realm of magic. It was good. It was warm. And exhilarating.

“She's my goddaughter,” Rouse explained, looking at the general direction the girl had skipped towards. “Smarter than a whip, just doesn't speak much. Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about you.”

Clary wouldn’t have minded talking more about the little girl. 

“So,” Rouse started, going directly to business. “I'll need something of your mother's. A lock of hair, fingernails.”

If she managed to sneak into the room where the bodies were displayed, she could easily snip away a lock of hair. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

Rouse smiled immediately. “Wonderful,” she said, seemingly delighted to be working with Clary. “And then, of course, there is the matter of my fee.”

Fee? That had not been something Clary had thought about. After all… Magnus had never asked for one, not after the very first time they’d met, where he’d demanded the Amor necklace as payment. Before giving it away to Izzy. Maybe Magnus was just that way.

“Now,” Rouse added, seeing the confusion on Clary’s face. “I know you don't have a lot of money, and, sadly, this is not something that insurance will cover.” Clary forced a chuckle out. There was no way she could afford whatever the warlock was going to ask. “But,” she kept going. “I like you. So, I'll tell you what. I'll bring your mother back, and, as payment, you can owe me a favor.”

Favor. That sounded shady. Immediately, Clary took a bit of a step back. Rouse was standing between her and the door though. And maybe it was worth it? After all, this was her mother’s life, they were talking about. Not a parlor trick.

“Uh, what kind of favor?” Clary asked, her voice showing clearly that she wasn’t fond of that idea. 

“Oh, who can say?” Rouse chuckled. She was still as warm and welcoming and casual about all of this. The way she spoke was strangely familiar. Like a mother. “Right now, you need a warlock. And every so often, I need a Shadowhunter. When that time will come, I'm not so sure... But when it does, I'll call on you. How about that?”

It didn’t seem bad. Coming to slay a couple of demons in exchange for her mom’s life? That was a good bargain. Right? 

\-----------------

Simon knew that he shouldn’t be worrying that much about Clary. She was much stronger than she looked. She had always been surprisingly tough-skinned. Growing up, when bullies tried to turn against her, she would never let it get to her. She was a force to be reckoned with. 

Still, Simon was worried she’d met the one thing that would get to her. Jocelyn’s death. 

The bond between Clary and Jocelyn had been something special. It had always been the most special kind of familial relationship Simon knew. He loved his mom, of course he did. But there had been this… connection between Clary and Jocelyn that he didn’t get, exactly, with his mom. And he’d always wondered where it came from. Maybe it was the fact neither of them had been really human. Maybe it was the lack of relationships Clary had with others. Her life had always been about Jocelyn, Luke and Simon. Few friends stayed for longer, and few people mattered to her. 

So, now that Jocelyn was gone and Clary seemed to be slightly pushing Simon away, Simon was going to call the third person that really mattered. Luke. Even the pack seemed to be lost about what had happened to him or where he’d gone. Did he even know that Jocelyn was dead? Simon was pretty sure he did. There was no real reason for him to disappear otherwise.

Luke had been a dad to Simon too. A surrogate one, taking the place of Simon’s dad, Binyamin, after his death. He’d been there, for Elaine and Simon. And that had been maybe one of the most important connections of Simon’s life. 

“Luke,” Simon said, after dialing Luke’s number and hitting voicemail. He wondered when Luke’s voicemail box would be full. Hopefully, not too soon. “I know it's probably not a good time, but…” He didn’t know what to say. Put aside your feelings and come back here? It was unfair. “You need to get in touch with Clary. We're all kind of freaking out. Clary needs you. I could use you, too,” he ended up admitting. “So, um I'll talk to you soon, I guess. Bye.”

He hated voicemails. They were all so awkward, and they didn’t say what was real and true. They were edulcorated. 

Simon stopped in front of his house then, put his phone in his pocket. Surprisingly, his mother was sitting on the bench, in the small yard in front of their house. She seemed to be waiting. Simon didn’t know what she was waiting for.

“Hi,” he breathed as he walked into the yard. He barely gave her time to reply. He just brought her in a big, deep hug. He was only thinking of hugging her. And also not crushing her with his vampire strength. It would be very hard to explain. 

“Wow,” Elaine breathed. “Slow down, monkey.”

He felt almost like crying at the childhood nickname. It was stupid but, he was so lucky she was there for him. He couldn’t imagine life without his mom. A little voice in his head told him he would have to live without her soon enough. He was immortal now. She was mortal. She would be gone one day. 

“I'm sorry,” Simon mumbled after moving back and letting go of her. “I should have definitely called before coming, you probably have nothing for me.”

“Nonsense, Simon. I always have something for you. This is your home, still. Even if you’re out in college, and touring with your band.” 

Simon discreetly wiped away the tears in his eyes. ”I just…” he stumbled on his words. “I just wanna tell you that, I really love you, Mom.” 

Elaine came to hug him again. “I love you too, Simon,” she said softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t usually get this emotional with me.” 

Simon nodded. “I’m just having a bit of a lonely time. You know, college.” 

“I know, monkey. Come on,” Elaine stood up. “Let’s go in the kitchen and see what we have for you, alright? Rebecca will be happy to see you too.” 

Simon followed her into the house. It felt good to be back. It was the first time he’d been back since he’d had to move into the boathouse. He wondered what Elaine would think if she knew where and how he lived these days. 

“Oh, and you know,” Elaine pointed out as she walked into the kitchen, in front of him. He followed her down the corridor. “I was thinking We should have Clary and her mother over for dinner. I haven't seen Jocelyn in ages.”

Simon swallowed. She would never see Jocelyn again. Jocelyn would just disappear, without a trace. He hated that his mom had to be in this confusion.

“Yeah. Um… I'll ask Clary,” Simon lied.

\------------------

Jace was reporting to the Head of the Institute’s office as instructed but his legs felt like lead as they carried him down the hall. He hated this. He knew this meeting was going to be uncomfortable. There was no good reason why Aldertree would be calling him in. 

They hadn’t really talked about what had happened after the City of Bones. They’d both gone to deal with what they had to deal with. Aldertree had walked into his office and written a report about Valentine’s attack, and Jace had gone to Izzy, and helped get her to the Infirmary. 

Just like most of the other soldiers in the Institute, Aldertree had pretty much avoided Jace for the day and a half since he’d been back. Maybe he was ashamed that Jace had to save him. Aldertree hadn’t been able to fight that much for himself, but he would have , had he been alone. 

Jace sighed. Everyone still thought of him as guilty, even though the Clave had exonerated him of all the crimes of which he’d been accused, whether those crimes were real or imagined. He was concerned about Clary, Alec and Izzy. They all needed his support. There was a lot for him to worry about. The last thing he wanted to deal with was Aldertree.

Then there were the things that waited for him when he went to sleep. He’d thought that what the Silent Brothers had done to him while he was imprisoned would stop when he left. But the nightmares were still there. He killed Clary in his dreams, over and over. And he hurt Izzy and Alec. Maryse turned away from him, even more than she already had. He was alone. And when he looked in the mirror, his eyes were pitch black, like a demon’s.

The door was opened, he realized as he got to it. So, Jace exhaled, before he walked into the Head of Institute’s office. There was no hiding and waiting behind the door before knocking. It was wide open and he could see Aldertree working.

Jace stepped in. “You wanted to see me?” 

Aldertree looked up from his tablet and nodded. “Please,” he indicated. He looked tired. There was some red around his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he dreamt of dying at the hands of the Circle members. Jace found a sort of satisfaction at the idea that the man responsible for his recent nightmares might be having some as well. “Have a seat.”

Jace walked to where he was indicated to sit, and sat down.

“You and I haven't had a chance to talk about what happened at the City of Bones.” Aldertree started. They would have had a chance, had he not avoided looking in Jace’s direction for the last day and a half.

Jace nodded, simply. “Just doing what I was trained to do.” He wasn’t exactly expecting praise. A thank you would be nice though.

What he got was far from that. 

“That's how it may appear to the Clave,” Aldertree pointed out. “But what I saw was an unprepared soldier allowing a deranged criminal to take off with one of the Mortal Instruments.” His tone was seeped in disapproval and Jace frowned.

“Wait, wait,” He mumbled, looking up at the man. Aldertree seemed to be almost glaring at him. “I saved you. Would you prefer that I let you die?”

Jace might have understood, months ago. But he thought Aldertree had things in his life, maybe a partner, wife, children somewhere, that would make him want to stay alive and fight. It was so common for people his age to be at that point in their personal lives that Jace hadn’t even thought of another alternative. That, or Aldertree was one of those insanely patriotic soldiers. 

“That's precisely what you should have done,” Aldertree said, before confirming what Jace had thought. “I'd gladly have given my life to protect the Sword, just like the Silent Brothers did. Now, countless more soldiers will die trying to reclaim it. And their blood will be on your hands.” 

Jace could never do anything right. It was alright. If he had to live with that until Aldertree left his position and someone else came to take their place, he would. He wanted to be around Clary, Izzy and Alec too much to keep rebelling and keep himself in trouble.

“I'll do whatever I can to get it back,” Jace nodded solemnly. Thankfully, this would be what Aldertree wanted to hear. 

“I'm afraid your words are too late,” the man said. Jace almost huffed. What the hell was the point of this then? So he didn’t want to thank him, and he didn’t want for him to promise that he would throw himself into work to fix what he’d supposedly done wrong. What did he want from him? “I'm sending a team to the Adamant Citadel to see what the Iron Sisters know about how to track the Sword.”

“Great,” Jace nodded, and stood up. He wanted to seem dynamic and ready for work. And he did actually want to get the Sword back, he just… was a bit tired of the endless fight with Aldertree. “I'll run point, draw up a mission.”

Aldertree almost smirked at that and Jace knew the other shoe was going to drop right now. “A soldier without discipline is poison to his entire squad,” Aldertree explained and Jace could feel how satisfied he was to be saying those things. “You're hereby banned from field duty.”

He said nothing else. He didn’t even tell him to leave. He just turned away and let the words stick in the air. Banned from field duty. Jace wanted to punch the guy in the face. He was alive because Jace had chosen to save his ass despite the fact that Aldertree had been nothing but cruel to him and his family. 

He ground his teeth and left the room. He needed to stay as calm as he could. No getting into trouble anymore, right? 

\-----------------

The man was sitting on the stairs of the fire escape balcony outside of Magnus’ apartment. Magnus noticed him as he was walking from his bedroom to his living room, just from the corner of his eye. A mundane would have thought it was just a distorted reflection of themselves in the window.

It was Alec. Half hidden behind the wall, wearing only a sweater, no jacket even though the night air was cool, and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were closed as if he was deep in thought, and he was massaging his wrist slowly. Something was wrong, Magnus thought.

He had been worried, more than he could admit. There had been absolutely no news from Alec for the last two days, as the Clave and Clary prepared Jocelyn’s funeral. Everyone knew that Alec had been the one to kill her, even if possessed by a demon. Even the Shadow Kinds gossiped about it. 

A few warlocks who knew that Alec and Magnus were dating had made a couple of half-hearted comments about how much of a shame it was. Magnus had coldly retorted they didn’t need to pretend that they didn’t feel some strange satisfaction at knowing Jocelyn Fairchild, Valentine Morgenstern’s wife, was dead. She’d aided him too much in the crimes committed against their people for any of them to truly mourn her. 

Magnus thought about just walking past and leaving Alec to deal with his pain alone, as the man seemed to be more comfortable with doing. But he didn’t. They were in a relationship now and that meant Alec didn’t have to deal with anything alone anymore. He had Magnus to help him. 

There was also something to be said about Alec coming to his fire escape for comfort, and as a hiding place. Magnus wanted to be there for him as Alec sought him out for comfort. 

He opened the door to the fire escape and closed it behind him. Alec looked up at him, and Magnus saw no annoyance at being disturbed. He almost saw a relief in the man’s eyes. Relief that Magnus had seen him and that everything was going to be alright. 

“You okay?” Magnus asked, quiet but direct. 

Alec nodded a little, lightly, and it was only half-hearted. Magnus could see the heaviness of the feelings the other was feeling. “I can't be in that Institute,” Alec replied. It wasn’t a real answer. Magnus felt he wasn’t going to get one of those yet. 

“Oh, Alec...” Magnus breathed and before he had time to add anything, Alec changed subjects.

“Heard you turned in Camille,” Alec said. Dodging a question about his difficult emotional time by asking about Magnus’ difficult emotional time. “How'd that go?” 

Magnus decided to lead the way and be open about it. Alec didn’t look like he was ready to start talking about how he felt without someone to do it first, someone to show that the space was safe for speaking of feelings. “Honestly?” Magnus asked, rhetorically. “It was  _ awful _ ,” he muttered. “We had a lot of history, she and I.” As he spoke, he realized, maybe Alec didn’t want to hear about his past relationships. About how he had loved others. ”I'm sorry if that's weird.”

“It's not weird,” Alec whispered. “You say what you think. I know you had a life before we met in March.” 

Magnus found himself breathing much easier than expected. He’d initiated the conversation thinking that it would be to Alec’s benefit and not his, but here he was, confronted by the fear of being rejected for his history of love. Instead he’s being comforted and accepted. 

The small smile that had tilted upwards the corners of his mouth fell when Alec lifted his right hand into the path of the light for a moment, and Magnus saw the dried blood that stuck to his skin. 

“Too busy to use the healing rune?” Magnus asked, soft and reassuring. He could see in Alec the threads of something that could become self-harm. It was present in many Shadowhunters, too many. The culture of the Clave pushed to a level of excellence that was hard to keep up. And failure was shameful. 

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not,” Magnus replied, immediately. He kept his voice gentle, despite the directness of it. ”You're hurting. Badly.” He knew what it was like to be pushed that far. He had almost four centuries of living and feeling pains that some people couldn’t imagine, so he knew what it was like to get to that point. “You hope the pain here…” he pointed at his hand. “will overpower the pain there,” he finished, pointing at his heart. Alec was looking at him a little, but trying to avoid direct eye contact. “I wish it were that simple.”

“I let a demon in, Magnus,” Alec said, rather shortly, as if it justified it all. As if he deserved punishment.

From what Magnus had heard, it wasn’t even true. “That wasn't your fault.”

“I don't know what to say to Clary,” Alec snapped, and Magnus could see the shame, the guilt and the pain, clear on his face. “I can't face her.”

“But you will,” Magnus interrupted and Alec looked at him like he was saying nonsense. Like he was just using words without caring for their true meaning. “Because that's what you do, Alexander.” Magnus was surprised by the reverence of his tone. Of the belief. He was surprised that he felt so strongly, but he could see Alec fighting to the very end. He knew Alec would not stay enclosed in the shame and guilt. “It may take you a minute, but I've seen it up close. I went to your wedding. You'll blow up the very ground you stand on to make something right.”

Alec stared at him fully then. Magnus breathed out. He didn’t know what else to say, but it didn’t seem like he needed to say more. Alec was a fighter. He had always been, and Magnus could see it clearer than he could see most things. He believed in him. Maybe that could be enough for a while. Magnus could just fill the void of Alec’s belief in himself with his own, for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 13, Dust and Shadows part 2!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	13. Dust and Shadows Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good day everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 2 of Dust and Shadows! Dust and Shadows will only be 2 parts.
> 
> This contains the same content as the show when it comes to Clary almost being sexually-assaulted by a demon. It's a bit more detailed in this of course, though. Please be careful if you have to!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Jace didn’t know exactly what had made him walk into the room where the bodies of the fallen Shadowhunters were displayed, but here he was. Maybe it was the call to go and see the body of his departed mother, seeking guidance after what Aldertree had told him. Maybe it was the Angel, knowing that Clary was acting strange, guiding him to walk in on her… cutting a piece of hair off of Jocelyn’s head. 

“What are you doing?” Jace asked. 

It was obvious to the two of them that he knew, but he still wanted to see if Clary was going to lie to him. After everything they’d been through. She looked at him, eyes wide and maybe a little sheepish to have been caught, but there was no real shame in her eyes. Just a staunch determination.

“Nothing,” she replied, voice tight, and she looked down and tried to walk past him. He stopped her, with a hand on her arm.

“Hey,” he said, softly. He guessed being loud was not going to work on her. And it would disrupt the quietude of the resting of the fallen nephilim. “What is that for?” He truly, deeply hoped that it was just to have it as a keepsake, the way Jocelyn had had some of his hair in the box they’d found in her old loft.

“I went to see a warlock in Park Slope,” Clary breathed, and something in Jace stilled. “Her name's Iris Rouse and she-” 

“Please,” Jace interrupted, looking at her. A lock of hair and a warlock? There was no way this was a keepsake. Clary was going to make the biggest of mistakes. “Please tell me you're not thinking about doing what I think -”

“I can bring my mom back, Jace,” Clary retorted, too loudly in this room. The determination was there and now he saw what Alec had seen before. When Alec talked about how reckless she was, and how she would not back down despite any logical argument. He could see what he meant now. “Our mom.”

“You can't.” 

He wished he wasn’t as harsh sounding as he was, but there were things he wouldn’t allow. Clary was trying to appeal to his emotions by bringing up the fact that Jocelyn had been both their mom, and that he  _ should _ want her back. Shouldn’t he? Except Jace didn’t want her back. Not like that.

“She wasn't supposed to die, Jace!” Clary’s despair was clear. She was struggling with the feelings of loss. She was struggling, in denial, wanting to move Earth and Heaven. Jace wasn’t religious, but he knew that people died when they were supposed to. If Jocelyn was gone… “It was a mistake. A freak demon attack. I…” Clary stumbled a little. “I want more time with her.”

“So do I,” Jace replied, and he wasn’t lying. He wished he could talk to her, for real, in a situation where he wasn’t running for his life. He was far from the baby Jocelyn had known, and he needed to show her that. But it wasn’t going to happen. Jocelyn was gone. And that was the end of it. “But you never know what you're gonna get back. There are always risks. You could very well conjure a demon in Jocelyn's form.”

He couldn’t imagine that happening. Clary would feel even worse, and one of them would have to put the demon down. Jace wasn’t going to let anyone else but him do something like that, and he would rather avoid having to tell Alec not to get involved, as he chased after a demon that looked like his mother. And then there would be the issue of Clary getting in trouble with the Clave for what she’d done. Jace knew that a warlock that practiced necromancy openly enough for Clary to catch wind of them wasn’t on the Clave’s nice list.

“You said "could." She could also come back the same, right?” 

Jace truly knew where Clary came from, but this wasn’t a game he was willing to play. 

“Look,” he sighed. “I know you want her back. But you have to trust me, Clary,” he said and walked closer. “You don't bring people back from the dead.”

He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t going to listen to him. Everything about her gaze screamed defiance. And worse than that, it screamed betrayal. Jace guessed she was hurt because he didn’t want Jocelyn back just as much as she did.

\--------------

Raphael was truly more relaxed now that Camille was not an issue anymore. He’d known, when Magnus had sent him and Simon away, that it was because he wanted to be alone. When they’d come back, Magnus was alone, and he’d told them Camille was in Alicante now. 

He’d seen the exhaustion on Magnus’ face, and had known what had happened. Magnus had a specific face, a specific… look when he dealt with Camille. And his exhaustion then had been a clear sign that he’d had to spar with a woman he still loved in a way that was maybe unhealthy. He’d been dependent on her for so long. 

Raphael had checked on Magnus several times over the couple of days since then. Magnus seemed alright, but he was very good at hiding whatever was happening with him. 

He felt a little guilty to be so relieved and so relaxed following something that had hurt Magnus quite deeply, but he couldn’t help it. The idea that he was going to be alright and that Aldertree was not going to murder him and his people was just way too comforting.

He needed to check on the most recent of the Turned Vampires, he realized, checking the time. He stood up and straightened the paperwork he’d been doing into neat files. He liked when things were tidy.

He walked out of his office and into the corridors of the Hotel DuMort. People nodded at him as he walked by. They were in the process of cleaning out the Hotel of Camille’s… effects. She’d left behind a number of unsavory things. Raphael didn’t want those reminders of the way Camille operated looming over the Clan. That wasn’t the way he led. 

Vampires she had imprisoned, justly or not, were being released. They had been without blood for so long they were almost completely desiccated. If they truly deserved punishment for a crime, the proper discipline would be given and justice would be served. Those that were imprisoned simply for Camille’s enjoyment, were given blood and freed. Not every vampire appreciated Raphael’s brand of justice, but it was what he wanted for the clan. This was his clan now and he would lead it in his way. 

He walked out of the DuMort then. He didn’t want to bring the other vampires he would usually bring with him. It was just a small errand, a small visit to a nearby building that the DuMort officially owned. That was where most of the newly turned stayed. It was somewhat of a transitional place for them. 

He was just making his way there, in the quietness of the June night, when he was violently shoved against the wall. He turned around and saw two vampires. Some people he recognized from when he was still Camille’s right-hand. They’d been very… devoted to her. Almost too much. In a way that Raphael would never ask of the people under him.

“We know you gave Camille to the Clave,” one of them hissed, spitting in his direction and dirtying his suit. 

A fist that he hadn’t seen coming collided with his face and he groaned loudly. What was going on with the Shadow World lately? Was it a general ‘beat up Raphael’ month that he wasn’t aware of? 

There was another fist, this time in his stomach. They couldn’t kill him with a beating. Unless they managed to somehow get his head from his body, and that wasn’t something that Raphael was going to let happen. He didn’t love the life he led as a vampire, not entirely, but he wasn’t going to let himself be killed either. God knew what would happen to the clan if left without an appropriate leader. 

“She broke the Accords,” Raphael replied. “Many times.” 

“You were just jealous,” the vampire hissed, and punched him another time. The other one started kicking his knee. It was fine. Whatever was broken would heal back. As usual. “She had the power and the people you wanted for yourself. Only the weak stayed behind and joined your clan. We all joined her.” 

Raphael almost laughed at that. “Ah yes. I was so disappointed not to get such… skilled and smart vampires such as you two in the ranks of my clan. You were never the sharpest tool in the shed, Logan. And believe me, Camille didn’t care whether you were on her side or not. You don’t weigh much in the balance of power. And neither do you, Antoine.” 

He was getting quite annoyed. They got a couple of punches and kicks in, but this was not something he was just willing to take. Raphael might be tired, but he was not up for playing this game for much longer. 

Raphael thrusted his knee up, and shoved Logan back. He punched him right over the right cheekbone, sending him doubling back. He then turned to Antoine. And things got way shittier all of the sudden. 

Antoine was holding, in a gloved hand, a wooden stake. That could potentially kill him. The punches and kicks, even if they were seriously annoying and painful when they were fresh, healed. Death? Didn’t. 

“You don’t want to do this,” Raphael said quietly. “You need me to keep the vampires safe from the Clave.”

“You’ve failed to do that,” Antoine snarled. “Camille is gone. And it’s your fault. Yours and your little fledgling favorite, Simon. Don’t worry, Kenneth has given orders to punish him for what he’s done too. And when we’re finished and you’re both dead, we’ll go knock at your warlock’s door.” 

Raphael was about to retort but Logan stabbed him with a silver dagger. He felt it through his entire body. The poison of the silver coursed through his veins and he howled. He twisted his entire arms back and grabbed the hilt of the dagger, pulling it out of his shoulder. 

“Fuck you,” he growled. Now he was in pain, and pissed. This didn’t feel like vampire play right now. It was much more dangerous. Silver burnt enough to keep him unfocused, and they would try to use that to stab him with the wood and take him out for good. 

He kept the dagger in his hand and moved, running with vampire speed to where Antoine was standing. Antoine moved as well, trying to dodge him but the dagger still found him, slicing open the side of his stomach. The vampire groaned in pain. 

The two attackers were still standing on either side of him, and he couldn’t run if he wanted to. All he could do was fight and not die. And definitely kill these two idiots. 

“Come on boys. Try to get at least one hit in before you get back to wherever you are based now with your tail between your legs because you got your ass kicked by your target,” he taunted. 

Antoine’s face seemed to show that he was particularly annoyed at that. Raphael didn’t really understand why, but Antoine had really never been that big of an asset to the clan. He’d long wondered why he was even there in the first place, until he’d seen him shirtless and remembered what people, especially Camille, who weren’t ace could be attracted to. 

The vampire started running to him with the stake in hand. Raphael swallowed. If he wasn’t careful that could end up in his heart very quickly. He stayed in place, convincing Antoine that he was going to kill him, until the very last moment. 

Raphael grabbed the man’s arm and pulled, sending him flying against the wall. He dropped the stake. Perfect. He grabbed it before it could even touch the ground and drove it, without a moment of hesitation, into Antoine’s heart. Poor thing. 

When he looked up, Logan was halfway down the alleyway. Raphael shook his arm a little. It was starting to get numb from the silver in his bloodstream. He’d have to deal with that. 

Raphael took a deep breath and ran after the other attacker. He was older than him by almost 50 years and much faster, even with the silver starting to make his right arm numb. 

“I’ll tell Kenneth how absolutely useless you two were,” Raphael promised as he stopped Logan mid-run, grabbed him by the neck and beheaded him in one hard tug. The lower half of Logan’s body fell to the floor and his head started disintegrating in Raphael’s hands.

Raphael grabbed his phone and dialed the number of Lily, his second-in-command, with his left hand. The other one was too numb to use a phone right now. 

\---------------

Magnus was right, Alec thought. He was walking through the Institute, having spent the night at Magnus’ and talked some more with him. Magnus was full of stories and full of comfort and it made Alec feel a little more comfortable with his feelings. Magnus made him feel like he could be emotional, like he could share what he was feeling. That was something that Alec found precious and rare.

He needed to talk to Clary. He knew she probably wouldn’t want to see him. Alec didn’t want to see her either, but he had to. He had to make this right. And it had to start with apologizing. He couldn’t hide from this. 

He swallowed and lightly knocked at Clary’s door. There was no reply, but he pushed it open. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed and she obviously sighed when she saw he was the one coming into her room. 

She looked tired, but he didn’t mention it. He just swallowed, and closed the door behind himself.

“Hey,” Alec breathed and she looked away, sighing deeply. He knew she was dreading this conversation as much as he was. He swallowed again and put his hands behind his back, holding onto them to keep himself from nervously wringing them. “Look,” Alec started. “I, uh-” 

“Please,” Clary said firmly. “Don't.”

Alec would have stopped, but he remembered Magnus’ words. He had to do this. “Clary, I am so sorry.” he blurted out in one go, words almost mixed together. “I would do anything, I mean anything, to take back those 30 seconds. To get your mom back.” He felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders as Clary looked at him, silent, thoughtful.

He waited, in the silence that followed, waiting for something, for a sign that he was going to be alright, and maybe not forgiven, but understood. He needed her to tell him it was alright. He needed her to tell him how to fix this. 

“Alec,” Clary breathed out, looking at him like she’d had an eureka moment. “Maybe we can get her back.”

“What?” That didn’t make sense. But she seemed very certain. And he was willing to do it. He was there for that, he wanted to help. Anything to undo the terrible thing he’d done. Anything to give Jace and Clary their mother back. Even if he wouldn’t want for anyone to do that if Maryse was to die. Even if Clary was the one to kill her, possessed by a demon. Maybe especially if Clary was the one to kill her, possessed by a demon. 

“I found a warlock who claims she can do it,” Clary explained, and Alec completely ignored the alarm sirens screaming at him that it was completely stupid and reckless and dangerous and wrong and illegal. “But there are risks.”

She stood up, and walked to him. He noticed the lock of hair and the picture in her hand. That made sense, if she was going to see a warlock.

“I'll go with you,” Alec blurted out, still ignoring the signals of ‘no’ that were going off in his mind. “Clary, if there's any chance that we can get your mother back, we have to take it. No matter what happens, I'll be there.” He promised. 

It was a very bad promise to make. But he had to make things right. And if making things right was this? Then, he would go through it, and follow her.

“Okay,” Clary nodded. “Let's do it.”

\---------

Clary took a deep breath when the door to Iris Rouse’s house opened. This was it now. Alec was with her to ensure her protection, and no one would come and tell her this was a bad idea. In… however long the spell took, her mother would be alive and everything would be okay. There would be no more of that void, that terrifying abyss in her chest that threatened to swallow her whole.

The woman that stood behind the door was someone that Clary hadn’t seen before, heavily pregnant and with dark hair. “Are you here to see Dr. Rouse?” She asked. Clary couldn’t help but stare at her stomach for a moment before she blinked and looked up. Dr Rouse. She knew Rouse as a doctor, and not a warlock. That meant that the woman was a mundane. 

“Yes,” she replied. “Um I... “ She stumbled, swallowing. She didn’t know exactly how to explain this. The woman in front of them didn’t seem to know who she was. It seemed that maybe Rouse hadn’t told her that she would come. “I think she's expecting me. My name's Clary Fray.”

The pregnant mundane didn’t reply anything, as another voice, a voice that Clary knew, replied for her. 

“I was indeed expecting you,” Rouse said, walking to the door. The mundane opened the door wider so they would see Rouse more clearly and not just hear her discorporated voice. “I only wondered when.” Rouse seemed to notice Alec then as she had a bit of a smile. “And I see you brought a guest. Your boyfriend?” 

“Uh, no,” Clary replied, unable to stop herself from making a face. Not only were they both gay but they were also really not compatible. Absolutely not. The look on Alec’s face indicated he felt the same way.

Rouse shrugged and looked at Alec. There was much more open unhappiness about Alec than she’d shown towards Clary when they had first met. “Well, whatever you are,” she said. “Leave your weapon outside.” Alec took a deep breath and stared at her. “Any warlock worth a damn can see through Shadowhunter glamour with ease,” Rouse replied to the question that laid underneath of the stare. “Oh, don't worry. It'll be safe in the alcove.” 

Clary looked up at Alec. He seemed very unhappy about having to disarm himself, but he returned her gaze, waiting for her to make the move. She couldn’t help but appreciate that. He respected that this was her call. She nodded at him. 

They both walked into the house, and Alec unglamored his bow and quiver. He took them off as Rouse closed the door behind them and started going through the details of the business transaction with Clary.

“Did you bring your mother's-”

“Uh, her hair,” Clary replied, taking the lock of dark red hair from her pocket. She’d tied a little cream ribbon around it to keep the hairs from flowing away and getting everywhere. “Yes.”

“Perfect,” Rouse replied and started walking deeper into the house. She seemed very different to the way she’d been when Clary had been there the day before. Much more… business-like. Much less warm and motherly. “Nurse Leigh will help you with the paperwork.”

“Uh, paperwork?” Alec asked, walking to stand by Clary’s side, vigilant. Clary trusted that he would know what to ask. He’d dealt with warlocks much more than she had.

“Just a simple pin prick to draw blood for the oath,” Rouse explained, keeping her smile as casual as she could, it seemed. Clary didn’t really love the feeling she was having. Iris was acting too differently. “For the favor we talked about.”

Immediately, Alec tensed by her side. “I don't know about any favor.”

“Oh, that was the deal we made,” Rouse retorted, and the aggression and annoyance were back, obvious, in her words. She really disliked that Clary had brought Alec with her.

“It's fine, Alec,” Clary said, and she brushed her hand against his shoulder. “I wanna do this.” She could tell he wasn’t alright with it.

“Delightful,” Rouse smiled, looking at Clary more than at Alec. “Follow me. Your friend can wait here for you in the waiting room.” 

“No, I'm not leaving her side,” Alec said firmly. 

Rouse glared at him openly this time, before centering her attention on Clary. This was not going the way Clary had expected it to go. “Oh, then I can't do this,” Rouse said, and Clary felt her mom slip away briefly. “His energy is too turbulent. I need calm, and he is not calm.”

“Okay,” Alec huffed, losing patience and getting back into his business mind. “I'm gonna need to see some credentials. Show me your warlock mark.” 

Clary frowned. First, she didn’t know how a warlock mark was anything like credentials, and second, it seemed like way too aggressive of a thing to say to a warlock. Rouse’s coldness turned to complete ice immediately.

“Dear,” Rouse spoke through gritted teeth. “If a lady has concealed her mark, assume it's for good reason.” 

Alec obviously rolled his eyes. 

“Alec,” Clary tempered, and her voice sounded way more firm than expected. “It's okay,” she assured, and Rouse sent her a small smile. “I'll be fine. Really.” 

Rouse smiled at her more. Clary nodded at Alec and left him behind. She walked deeper into the house with the warlock. They walked up the stairs to the second floor, where Rouse had said that she held her warlock practice. 

Rouse pushed open the door to a little salon. There was a big wooden table and a few small couches. It looked the way Clary imagined a British museum would look. A bit old-timey and too much. But the fabrics weren’t golden, they were pale green and cream and powder pink. And so was the china Rouse served her tea in. 

They chatted a moment, mostly about the weather, and Leigh, the pregnant nurse that had opened the door to them, took a drop of Clary’s blood. After she was done, Clary finished her tea and Rouse stood up, obviously ready to start with the business transaction Clary was there for.

“Place your mother's lock of hair on the table, please,” Rouse said softly, looking at her. Clary obeyed and the lock of hair was soon in the center of the table. “Now,” she added. “I need you to focus as intensely as you can on a cherished memory of your mother. Can you do that?” 

“Yeah.” That was a fairly simple command. 

“That will help repel any demons that dare come near her soul,” Rouse explained and Clary nodded. She let her eyes fall shut, and focused. 

There were things that she didn’t remember, but there were a lot that she did. She remembered her 17th birthday dinner the most. She remembered her mom trying to kick her out of the kitchen, trying to get her to let her cook by herself, and refusing. She remembered cooking with her mom, chopping vegetables and letting Jocelyn explain the things they needed to do. There was cake in the fridge, and the Lewis’ were going to come. And Jocelyn was making chicken cacciatore. 

Jocelyn’s smile was wide and warm as she took care of the chicken and Clary cut up the potatoes.

“There you go, Clary,” the warlock said. She seemed to be feeling Clary’s focus. “Good girl. Now, let the process begin.” 

Clary just shut her eyes even more close, frowning to tighten the line where her upper and lower lid came in contact. Her mom. Soon she was going to hug her again,that big, tight hug that Clary was already missing so much, even if she hadn’t really wanted her to hug her lately. 

Rouse started chanting in Latin, and Clary pushed herself to focus on her mom’s smile in her memories, and not the somewhat foreign words she was hearing. She remembered seeing her mom for the first time as she was awakened by Magnus’ magic. She remembered finding her at Renwick’s and the relief she’d felt at seeing her, even if she was unconscious.

Even the annoyance, the betrayal, all the negative things she’d been feeling towards her, it all melted away as she thought about her hugs and her smiles and how she would always be there as a shoulder for Clary to cry on.

She was taken out of the memories and feelings by insistent tapping against the window and the cawing of a crow. She frowned, opening her eyes. Behind Rouse, through a door, she could see a window, and there, there was a crow. It was slamming and taping against the window, cawing loudly, almost hysterical in a way.

“Oh, my God,” she couldn’t help but say, looking at it. It was the bird from the day before. The bird that Rouse had brought back to life. And it seemed… wrong. Insane. “That bird!”

“Focus on your mother, Clary,” Rouse replied, perfectly calm. 

At that moment, the crow managed to smash through the window and started flying around the room, cawing, obviously out of its small bird mind. Rouse seemed to have no issue with this, even as Clary was ducking under a pillow. 

The bird fluttered around Rouse especially, focusing on her as her blue magic was working on the piece of hair. It came too close, suddenly, and the warlock grabbed it and quickly snapped its neck. Clary gasped. The poor bird’s corpse was tossed without care onto the carpet. Rouse went back to chanting.

Suddenly, Clary wasn’t sure anymore. The bird that Iris Rouse had used to prove that Jocelyn could come back was lying dead on the floor again, because it had obviously come back wrong. And it was a bird. As far as Clary knew, birds were far less complicated than nephilim.

“No,” she said. She grabbed the piece of hair from the table and the flow of magic from Iris’ fingers ceased. “Stop!”

\---------------

Alec waited in the corridor for Clary to be done. He knew necromancy to be bad, he could feel his own instincts screaming at him to get Clary out and leave before terrible things happened but he quietened them.

He was observing his surroundings when a little girl came out of one of the doors, and started staring at him.

The little girl was wearing a fuchsia dress and had moved closer to him. Alec had stopped looking at her directly, and instead was looking around the room and talking out loud. She didn’t seem to want to reply; but that was alright with him. He could just do the conversation himself. 

He’d met children like this before. It had never been Max’s style, but he knew how to deal with quiet children. Like all children, many disliked being talked down to. 

“It's a nice place,” Alec said. The little girl just leaned from one side to the other, watching him intently. “Where are all your toys?” He asked. This time he was a little more direct, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile. 

For a moment, she didn’t do anything. She watched him silently, before tilting her head up, putting her arm up and pointing, somewhat with her full body, up. They were upstairs. The little flowery scarf she was wearing rode down and it revealed something on her neck. Alec frowned a little. Gills. She was a baby warlock. 

The little girl caught him staring and put her arm and head down suddenly. He smiled at her, indicating everything was alright.

“Cool gills,” he said softly, and smiled at her. This time, he saw her really smile, with her whole face. It made him feel warm and happy. She smiled back at him and he smiled back even wider. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed.

Their moment of quiet was interrupted by the cries of a baby, in the depths of the house. That was… off. A young warlock child, a pregnant nurse, and another baby? That seemed like a lot. Maybe Iris Rouse had a bit of a perinatal thing going on, and a kindergarten, rolled in one, or something was off. 

The little girl turned away and started walking up the stairs. Alec decided to follow. Worse case scenario, he would just pretend he was looking for the bathroom. 

\------------------

Clary was going to listen to Jace and Magnus’ words. She should have in the first place, anyway. This was a bad idea, it had always been. She’d just been… naive. Blinded by the pretty promises of a warlock she didn’t know. She should have been smarter than that. 

Rouse tried to make her stay. “Just because one bird came back badly doesn't mean-” 

“Well,” Clary interrupted, sliding the lock of hair into the back pocket of her pants firmly. “I'm not willing to take the chance. I'm sorry I wasted your time..” She grabbed her phone and put it in her other pocket and started walking towards the door of the room. 

Behind her, Iris Rouse chuckled. “You didn't waste my time,” she corrected, and Clary felt something was off. “You still owe me a favor,” the woman reminded her. 

No… That wasn’t what Clary knew. Right? “The deal's off,” Clary replied. She was maybe a little too aggressive, but she wasn’t going to let herself be tricked into more of this madness. Especially since the longer she spent here, the less trustworthy and kind Iris Rouse seemed.

“No, it's not,” Rouse replied, her voice low and incredibly satisfied. Clary felt like a poor helpless ladybug stuck in a spider’s web. “You took a blood oath.”

“Fine,” Clary rolled her eyes. “Call me when you need me.” It gave her time to go to Magnus’, apologize 500 times, and ask if he could undo the blood oath. She really hoped he could. This was going to be a teachable moment.

“I need you now,” Rouse said and Clary stopped in her tracks, everything going “oh fuck” in her mind. The trap was closing, and she was only now seeing the walls. 

Clary swallowed and looked at the woman. Rouse looked so calm. Uncomfortably so. 

“You are going to host one of my finest creations,” Rouse said, her tone almost dreamy. It was wrong, she was introducing this trap as something… beautiful. Like some sort of artist presenting their latest artwork.

“"Host"?” Clary picked up on that word. Her blood was stilling. “What are you talking about?” 

Rouse’s smile made her want to puke, suddenly. She was walking closer to Clary, looking absolutely delighted. Clary had the feeling that she wasn’t going to feel as delighted when she knew exactly what was happening.

“I'm talking about having a baby, Clary,” Rouse replied. “A baby warlock.”

No. No way. She was 18. And she didn’t even know if she wanted children. Especially not with… a demon. Because that’s what it meant to have a baby warlock. It meant… a demon… was… oh fuck. Fuck no. She should have listened to Magnus and Jace. 

She turned away but she couldn’t get to the door. She was caught in a magic forcefield, and no matter how hard she struggled, it wouldn’t let her go. She was trapped. She started screaming for help.

\------------

The second floor was quiet, except for the occasional baby cries. It all seemed a little off, but Alec couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. There were too many children involved. Maybe Rouse was running an orphanage for children in need of a home, or she was involved in some very shady business. 

He looked around a little, trying to open doors. They were all closed, probably by spells, and Alec knew much better than to force them open with runes. He had no official warrant, and he knew the rules of the trade. Clary and Rouse had a deal, and if he broke into one of the rooms, he could endanger that, and break some of the Accords.

He was about to walk back downstairs when the nurse that had opened the door for them stepped out of the room, holding a baby in her arms. Alec smiled at the baby, almost instinctively, but he stilled when he saw the child’s eyes shift. He couldn’t identify the exact animal or thing it came from, but it was a warlock mark for sure. 

And a mundane was holding the baby. That was probably a breach of the Accords, the breach of the secrecy of the Shadow World. And it added the number of warlock children in the house to at least 2. He was starting to doubt that this one was also Rouse’s family.

The nurse turned away as she caught him staring, bringing the baby back into one of the rooms. Alec knew that something was wrong.

\----------

“Let me out!” Clary screamed, banging against the magical barrier that kept her from reaching the door. She didn’t want to get pregnant. She didn’t want to have a baby, warlock or not. She was not only too young, but had no real desire for a child. 

“Warlocks are a dying breed,” Rouse started to explain, as if anything she could say could make Clary feel better about any of this. She hated it. She wanted to scream and to kick her. “And I need young women like you, healthy and fertile, that my own private demon can impregnate.” 

Clary felt nauseous. First there had been the way the woman had referred to her as  _ fertile  _ like Clary was just a piece of cattle to breed. And then there was the idea of having a demon impregnate her. That wasn’t just… impregnation, that was rape. She was going to get raped by a demon, so that she could conceive its warlock offspring. 

“Oh, I wish there was another way to do it. I do,” Rouse continued, and she didn’t even manage to make Clary believe that she was sad that they had to do it that way. “But now, with Valentine threatening to wipe us all out, we need to build our numbers.” 

Fuck this. Fuck all of this. Clary banged against the barrier again, trying to find a way, any way, to escape. There was none. She wasn’t armed, she only had her stele and not enough knowledge to actually do anything harmful with it. She was at the mercy of Iris Rouse. She wanted to cry. And scream. And puke. And kill her.

She then remembered something Izzy had taught her when they’d started her training, the basics of the different species of the Shadow World.

“I'm a Naphil. A demon can't get me-” 

“Pregnant?” Rouse interrupted, and the fact she still had a smile on was enough for Clary to understand that it wasn’t as much of an issue as she hoped it would be. After all, Rouse had accepted the deal, planned to resurrect her mother, and Clary didn’t doubt that this… demon pregnancy had been in the plans since the beginning. “I think I finally discovered an elixir that makes it possible.”

Well, she wasn’t going to drink it. She wasn’t going to drink or eat anything here. Her eyes fell on the cup of tea. Fuck. She already had.

“You spiked the tea,” Clary muttered, and Rouse didn’t seem to care much that she’d come to the realization of how trapped she actually was.

“Imagine a baby warlock, part demon, part Shadowhunter,” Rouse continued, and her jubilation made Clary’s skin crawl. “Now, that would be something. Definitely harder to drive into extinction.” And what about Clary’s wishes? Iris didn’t care. Clary tried to strike Rouse but the barrier was working still, and kept her from touching the warlock. “The good news is, after the baby's born, I'll do a memory wipe. You'll be back home, none the wiser.”

That wasn’t good news. Clary had no desire to have yet another part of her memory missing, and have to discover that it was missing because she’d been raped and impregnated by a demon, and had given birth to its child.

She started struggling against the barrier again, but her strength was getting weaker and weaker. There must have been a sleep potion in the tea as well, she realized, just as she felt her legs give in and she passed out.

\----------------

Clary woke up in a room that was much colder and darker than the one she’d been in. Her head was pounding, and her vision got less and less blurry as she blinked. She was laying on the floor on her back. 

She felt cold metal shackles around her wrists and swallowed. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself get trapped so easily. 

She stumbled to her feet and realized the length of chain that kept her wrists connected to a large metallic ring fixed in the floor was enough for her to stand up to full height. Alright. That was at least something. She would need some heavy contorting to get her stele from her back pocket, but she could manage it.

“Alec!” She screamed. She didn’t think that anyone would truly be able to hear her, but she could at least try, right? “Anyone?” She continued. “Alec!”

There was no answer. She was trapped in this room, chained to the floor by something she was sure wouldn’t budge, not without her really tugging at it. She swallowed heavily and shifted, turning around to grab her stele. It slipped out of her grip and onto the floor. 

Fuck. She believed there wasn’t a lot of time for her. She got on her knees and patted around the floor for it. It was too dark for Clary to see much of what was on the floor. There were some wet… puddles that she truly hoped were only water. 

Her hand closed up on her stele just as the sound of a metallic door sliding open in a wall resounded in the cold, empty basement. Her breath hitched. She stopped and watched. 

There was enough light in the other part of the room, the one beyond the small door, for her to see the silhouette of the demon. She also heard the noise of it moving. It was disgusting. Wet. Wrong. She felt nauseous again. 

The door closed. Suddenly, she was trapped in that room, with a demon she could barely see but unfortunately could hear. And she was chained to the ground with no weapon. 

Clary stumbled back as she heard the demon move closer. She needed to see.  _ The Night Vision Rune.  _ She grabbed her stele strongly and reached to her shoulder, almost dislocating her other one, and activated it.

Immediately, her vision shifted and she saw it. The demon looked humanoid enough, as if a human’s body had horribly twisted itself. It seemed covered with a sort of black goo, shiny with it, and maybe that was what Clary had touched earlier. 

She got to her feet again and moved back as far as the chains would let her. She needed to get out of them, but they didn’t seem to want to just fall open by themselves. There had to be a rune for that.  _ Strength rune.  _ She swallowed, grabbed her stele again. She pulled up her top, tearing it from the hem to right under her bra in her panic, and drew the rune on her stomach. The stele burnt but she felt it like a wave of sudden power in her muscles. Her entire body shuddered. 

Right as the demon was reaching the ring in the floor, she pulled her arms back violently. The shackles dug in her skin and she cried out in pain. It seemed to budge, but not enough. The demon was getting closer and closer and her desperation grew. She took a deep breath and pulled again. Her entire upper body ached, but the ring was pulled from the floor. 

She grabbed the chain itself with both hands and sent the ring flying towards the demon. It caught him right in what Clary supposed was its face. She hit it again and again, the creature screaming at each hit. It was working, she thought. 

The demon was smarter than that. It grabbed the chain right as Clary was slinging it towards it again and pulled. Clary was thrown to the floor, hitting it violently. Her stele was knocked out of her hand. She felt a sharp pain coming from her ankle. With a groan of pain, she got up slightly and crawled to get to her stele. The demon started moving towards her again.

“Stay back!” She screamed, but there was no stopping it. Its face had no eyes but it was staring at her, and she knew it was going to happen. She wished there was a knock out rune so she wouldn’t be conscious while it happened. She had no desire to live that. 

It crawled closer and she closed her eyes. Its claw wrapped around the ankle she’d hurt and she couldn’t help the pained groan that escaped her lips. No. No. This couldn’t happen. 

Behind her eyelids, a sudden golden light appeared. It danced in her mind, the image of a rune she’d never seen before, not even on Izzy’s flashcards. She swallowed. She opened her eyes, ignored the sight of the demon that was way too close and moving closer and drew it on her hand. It burnt and ached more than any of the other runes ever had.. Not even the Courage in Combat rune had been this painful, but she was going to get raped by a demon if she didn’t pull through and she didn’t care about the pain right now. 

A ray of light streamed out of her hand and onto the demon. It screamed in agony and moved back, letting go of her leg and starting to burn. She saw the little particles of golden demonic burnt flesh fly away, and they were almost too bright as she was still using her Night Vision rune.

It lasted for much longer than it would have had she used a seraph blade. The demon burned and burned. She was so focused that she didn’t hear or see Izzy walking into the room, calling her name. 

She only saw her when the demon was gone, the unknown rune had stopped working, and the room settled to its pitch darkness again. Izzy was standing at the door, eyes wide, looking at her with a mixture of awe and fear on her face. 

“What, in the Angel’s name, was that?” Izzy blurted out. 

Clary slumped down on the floor, a sudden exhaustion overcoming her. Her ankle was in pain, she was covered with black good from ankle to thigh, her top was torn apart. And she had just… used up a rune she didn’t know she could use. Granted, she didn’t know that much about runes yet, but if Izzy’s face was any indication… 

“I... I don't know,” she said, and her voice sounded hoarse. “I... I saw this vision of a rune and,” she stumbled on her words, trying to piece together everything that had just happened. “And so I drew it.”

Izzy walked to her, getting on her knees and grabbing her hand. “You just shot sunlight out of your hand,” she whispered. “That’s… was amazing. And unheard of,” she said, examining her palm. “Where's the rune?” 

“It's gone,” Clary whispered, looking at her. She’d ended up coming for her. Relief flooded her like a wave and she couldn’t do anything but crumble into Izzy’s arms. The woman held her tightly against her. A shudder ran down Clary’s spine. If she hadn’t had the vision of that rune… it could have been too late.

“Are you hurt?” Izzy asked, keeping her voice reassuring and low, washing away the horror of what could have happened. It hadn’t happened. She was safe now.

Clary nodded. “I… My ankle. I was fighting it and I… I don’t know what happened but it hurts.” 

Izzy smiled at her softly, and reached up, carefully activating Clary’s iratze. “You’ll be fine. This is for the pain before we get you back to the Institute, and I’ll make sure you’re at the infirmary before we start writing any report.” She muttered. Clary thanked her. Whether those were lies to comfort her or not didn’t matter. Izzy was here for her. It was all that mattered. Clary cuddled against her, the smell of Izzy’s perfume enveloping her. She was gonna be okay.

Jace and Alec ran into the room then. Clary could see that Alec was beating himself up over this. She had no energy to tell him he shouldn’t right now. She was so tired, and her entire body was aching. 

“There you are,” Alec muttered. 

“Are you okay?” Jace asked, and rushed to Clary’s side.

“Yeah. I'm... I'm fine.”

“Clary used an unknown rune,” Izzy explained, knowing very well what it sounded like. “She shot sunlight out of her hand.” 

Alec stared at his sister like she’d grown a second head. Jace sighed, sliding one arm under Clary’s legs, and one under her torso, and picking her up. “We’ll deal with that when we’re home. Let’s go.” 

Clary sighed. She closed her eyes, and let her brother carry her out of the room and out of the house. 

\-----------

“What do you mean, we’re under attack?” Simon exclaimed to Raphael, in a hushed whisper, into his phone. 

He was spending the second night in a row in his mom’s company. It was hard to explain to her what was going on in college, when he hadn’t spent a single second there, even if he’d gotten in early because of his grades but… it was… nice? It actually was. 

Even with the lying, and the fact that he couldn’t stomach any of the food that she made… he had missed her. A lot. And he’d missed talking to her. He hadn’t realized how precious Elaine was, until Clary had lost Jocelyn. 

“I was just ambushed by two of Camille’s sbires. It seems a new leader has taken over.”

Simon groaned. He had really thought that he would be done with all of this once Camille was given to the Clave. He was expecting it to be this “cut off the head, the entire organization falls” deal, but it was obvious the vampires worked a bit differently. 

“Are you okay?” 

Raphael sighed a little at the other end of the phone. “I’m fine. I’m sending some of my people, trusted ones, to protect my family, and yours. They’ll watch over your mother and sister.” 

Simon didn’t know what to reply to that. Raphael had never seemed to care about him. And Simon didn’t really like the other man. But now, he was protecting him? “Thank you, Raphael.” 

“Don’t mention it,” the other replied. “Take care of your family. I’ll keep you updated.” 

Raphael hung up and Simon sighed softly. That was not what he’d been expecting from him, but it was welcome. 

He was walking back to his bedroom to collect some things before going home to the boathouse when he heard a deafening scream. His mother’s voice resounded through the house and Simon ran as fast as he could to her. 

Within seconds, he was by her side. “What’s going on?” He asked. She looked out of her mind terrified.

“The… there was a.. a man,” Elaine spoke out, and she pointed at something behind Simon. Simon turned around and gasped. 

All over the floor and the dinner table, corpses of rats were lying around, bloody or completely drained. The blood that was still on them was slowly seeping into the carpet and the wood. On the window, someone had written “they’ll suffer for you, rat” in blood. Simon would have puked were he not hungry. 

“It’s… it’s gonna be fine, mom,” he muttered and shielded her from the scene. He grabbed his phone again and dialed the number that had just hung up. 

“Raphael, I know we just talked, but they made it here. I’m gonna need your help with my mom.”

\------------

Someone had left the clothing and jewelry on her bed. It was all white, a peplum-style top and a lacy skirt that hit below her knee with an underskirt for modesty. Clary slid them on. Seeing herself with them on felt wrong. 

They had also put a pair of nude high heels next to her bed, but she didn’t want to wear them. Her ankle was still healing. And heels had never really been her style. She grabbed her pair of black converse and put them on. She put the torn and dirty flannel over it all, and looked at herself in the mirror. 

Elegant white clothing with sneakers and a dirty flannel. Her hair was soft and styled in nice waves, Isabelle had helped her with them. She put on the pearl earrings that had seemed to come out of nowhere. It was a strange outfit, but… it made more sense to Clary than the nude heels. 

It was her, the Clave funeral rites, and the Jewish ones that she felt a bit more at home in. She was supposed to keep the flannel on for a week, after all. Even if it was slightly stained with goo from the demon that had almost raped her.

She walked out of her bedroom and into the corridor. It was mostly empty. She knew everyone was probably already in the cloisters. The reception room had been where Alec’s failed wedding had happened, and it was where the funeral was happening. 

Most of the Institute would be present, she’d been told. And a couple of Clave officials, but very few. The Fairchild family was dying with Jocelyn, and she hadn’t been very welcome since she’d joined the Circle. She hoped Luke and Simon would make it. She needed them. 

The room was filled with light, and people dressed in white. Many stared at her unconventional outfit as she walked in. She crossed the eyes of Izzy, who nodded at her, reassuringly. Clary didn’t know how to feel things anymore. 

Jace walked up to her. It was strange to see him in white too. 

“I can't do this, Jace,” she whispered, before he even could ask her if she was okay. Her voice was catching in her throat and she knew she wouldn’t be able to see this through. Her mom was gone. There was no getting her back now. They’d covered all the bodies in white, of course, with those simple shrouds. There were bright red petals over the bodies. The color felt more like a mundane wedding than a funeral.

“Yes, you can,” Jace replied and turned to stand by her side. His hand slid into hers and he squeezed it lightly. They were in this together. “Just don't let go of me.” Clary could only nod in reply. 

She wasn’t alone. He was there with her, her brother. She wasn’t alone, in a world without family. She still had Jace. No matter what, she still had Jace. 

He led her up, past the crowd and onto the raised part of the room. Next to the bodies. Silent Brothers in white also took their place there. And so did a couple of other Shadowhunters. 

“Those remaining will take their place with the fallen,” Aldertree instructed, even if everyone was already in place. 

She could see her mother’s face, her eyes closed, through the thin shroud that was over her body. The fallen… and those remaining. She didn’t want to remain. She didn’t want to stay there, to have to deal with being left behind. 

“Those remaining will say the names of the fallen.”

Clary’s heart skipped a beat. She needed to be strong. This was the moment where she needed to stand tall. She swallowed as the ones that were left behind said the names of their family. She didn’t pick up on the one that was the farthest from her.

_ Brother Micah. _

“Pulvis et umbra sumus,” the crowd said as one, and Clary didn’t understand it. She should have, she’d been given a booklet about Shadowhunter funeral rites by Aldertree when she’d gone through the paperwork. It had been obviously directed to children and she’d thrown it on the other side of the room.

_ Brother Jeremiah. _

“For we are dust and shadows,” they added. She could somehow hear Izzy’s voice the loudest, and she didn’t know why. There was a beat of silence as everyone waited for her to say the name. Jace squeezed her hand, trying to give her strength. 

In the cloisters, facing this crowd, with her mother, dead by her side, she felt so incredibly small. She wanted to hide behind Jocelyn’s legs. She would never be able to even try to do that again. She was… Jocelyn was… Tears rose instantly into her eyes.

Clary swallowed. She opened her mouth. “Joce-” As the first two syllables resounded in the dead silence of the room, she stopped. Jocelyn. She couldn’t even say it. The name of the fallen, it wasn’t… it wasn’t right. She looked down again and caught sight of the body and something broke inside of her. 

“Mom!” she cried out, sobs wretched out of her throat. She was fucking it up. She was fucking up her mother’s funeral, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She was gone. Her mom was dead. She would never come back. She would never walk through the door of her bedroom again and listen to her. She would never annoy her again, or make way too much food and freeze it, packing it into a freezer that was already too full. 

Clary barely felt as Jace was pulling her to him. She sobbed against the white jacket he wore.

Jace’s voice resounded in the place of hers. “Jocelyn Fairchild.”

Clary wanted to puke. Something pressed against her heart and stomach, the weight of her grief making her dizzy. Dead. Her mom was dead. Dancing behind her eyelids was the image of her mother’s body with a hole where her heart should have been. Clary felt like her own heart was being crushed in her chest.

“Ave atque vale. Hail and farewell,” the crowd chanted. 

Jace kept his arms around her as she sobbed. He helped her from the pedestal and they took their place in the crowd, in the first row. Clary didn’t want to look. 

The Silent Brothers walked from body to body, holding their steles to the foreheads of the deceased. Clary buried her face in Jace’s shoulder, keeping only one eye on her mother’s body. 

Aldertree and the Silent Brothers got into position, back turned to the crowd, and in sync, they raised both arms to the sky. The Remembrance Rune decorating the white banners behind the bodies glowed like fire. 

Clary gasped when she saw the golden and silver rays of light and glitter that seemed to escape the bodies of the fallen. They flew upwards, to where the ceiling had a hole, to the stars and the night sky. It was beautiful. 

Jace held her tighter, and together, they watched their mother’s soul join the stars and the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 14, Iron Sisters part 1!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	14. Iron Sisters Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good day everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 1 of Iron Sisters! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The rune on the paper of Clary’s notebook looked off. It was a pale version of the one she’d seen in the darkness of the cell. The vision of the rune had been crafted by something that was not mortal, not of flesh and blood. Clary’s reproduction was much too mundane.

She’d passed the notebook through their whole group, and neither Alec nor Izzy had recognized it from memory. She and Jace had gotten all the rune books out of the library of the Institute and gotten to work. 

Clary’s mind had drifted off a long time ago and she was adding shading and more color to the sketch of the rune she’d made. It was the only thing that kept her from screaming out in frustration and annoyance. She hated this. She hated that life and especially life in the Shadow World kept throwing her curveballs like this.

She was very thankful she wasn’t currently pregnant with a demon’s child, there was no doubt in her mind about that. But maybe the rune could have been some very easy one? One a kid would know? Something her subconscious would have conjured from seeing it on the flashcards Izzy used to teach her things. 

Jace looked up suddenly from where he was sitting, hunched over a big and old-looking book. Clary sent him a questioning look but he shook his head. She huffed out a sigh before he even started talking.

“Yeah, I'm not seeing it in the Gray Book,” Jace said anyway, even though she knew that based on the look he just gave her. 

“Well,” Clary sighed. “Isn't that thing supposed to have every single rune?” If it isn’t even in there, where the fuck was it from? 

“Some of them are removed. They're reserved for the most elite members of the Clave.”

Clary closed her eyes for a few seconds, swallowing the things she wanted to say about how shitty and authoritarian the Clave was. Restricting access to specific runes to elite members of the Clave, who were probably part of very specific elite families that were named, over and over, in a great nepotism spiral, into the elite positions that got all this extra knowledge.

“I'm not exactly elite,” was what Clary replied. “So why do I know it?” After all, she was the daughter of Public Enemy Number 1. There was no way that this rune was part of the elite-only information. 

“Maybe you saw it somewhere and you don't remember,” Jace offered. 

That could have worked, except Clary had never really been in a situation to see something like that. All the places where she could have seen runes were places where Jace, Alec and Izzy had been before, many more times than her. There was no way her eye had seen something they hadn’t.

“No, it…” Clary tried to think about how to describe it better than she’d described it before. “It appeared, like a vision,” she said, and she was repeating something she’d said before, maybe a hundred times. There was no real other way to describe it. It had floated behind her eyelids, golden and divine and she knew it wasn’t a memory. “Like someone or something was trying to send me a message…” Someone. Someone… that she knew had gone to Heaven recently, was her mom. “Maybe it's from our mom.”

Jace’s sigh was deafening. Clary didn’t know what else to say. “Clary, I know you miss her-” 

“How else do you explain it?” She asked. It was the only thing that made sense. 

The Remembrance rune on her wrist still felt fresh. She could remember most of the funeral, the parts where she wasn’t sobbing. She also knew that there was no one else she knew who was out there in the world. The religions of the mundane world were supposed to have a number of things right, she remembered hearing. So maybe Jocelyn was out there, in Heaven. Or GanEden, Sheol. Maybe she was wherever they went after dying, sending her help, however she could.

“I don't know,” Jace sighed. 

“We’ve asked Alec and Izzy, and they don’t know anything,” Clary summarized. “They’ve never even heard of something like this happening. And well, they might not be the ones in the Clave with the absolute most knowledge but they know stuff.”

“And we’re not telling anyone else. If we tell anyone else, they could be in danger, too. The Clave is quick to persecute anyone or anything they don't understand,” Jace sighed. “Especially when it comes to power they want.” 

Clary sighed. She’d seen the way people here treated and talked about Downworlders. The Clave’s dislike of sharing any kind of information or power was obvious. She didn’t want anyone to get in trouble, and she didn’t want to get in trouble herself because the people she told weren’t trustworthy. She could already feel Aldertree trying to get to know what was happening in her room as they were researching.

There was a knock on the door right then and Clary opened her eyes wider. Was he listening to her thoughts too?

“Come in!” Clary called out, turning towards the door. 

Izzy opened it and stepped through, closing the door quickly behind herself. “Everything alright in here? Emotion-wise, research-wise?” 

Clary sighed in relief when the door locked and it was only Izzy. Who was looking especially good today. Clary kept herself from staring at the smooth and toned amount of stomach showing between the waistband of her pants and the hem of her crop top. There was a hint of an equilibrium rune on the left side of her waist.

Jace nodded. “We haven’t found anything else. But apart from that… I think we’re okay.” 

Clary looked at Izzy and smiled a little. She wasn’t the happiest she’d ever been, but she was managing the grief alright. She guessed trying to bring her mother back and failing made it… different. Or maybe she was still in denial about some things and was just keeping herself in the hope the rune had come from Jocelyn and she hadn’t even started her mourning process correctly yet.

Jace sighed. “I’m gonna go. I have some work to do right now, and you two could use some time alone.” 

Clary raised an eyebrow at him. She caught him winking at them as he closed the door behind himself. She rolled her eyes. At least that was nice. Jace was… a comfort to her now. More so even than he’d been before. They were falling into a bit of a routine, sibling-like arguments like the ones Clary had witnessed between Rebecca and Simon. The only difference was that Clary and Jace’s relationship was brand new; and the bickering was for now very little. She honestly couldn’t wait until they got to the same point as Alec, Izzy and Jace’s petty arguments.

She wished Jocelyn had been able to see Jace like this. She’d only known Jace from afar, barely as a baby, and then as an enemy. Clary wished her mom could see who Jace really was. He was full of stupid jokes and way too headstrong, and in that way, she felt like they were really similar. They fit, the two of them. Like siblings. 

Clary also wished her mom would have seen her as a true Shadowhunter. She wished she’d seen her live her life with her holster and everything else. She wished they could have discovered Alicante and Idris as a family. She wished she could share so many moments with her that she wouldn’t be able to share. 

Clary wished Jocelyn had known about the way she felt when Izzy was around, like right now. They moved to sit on the bed and Clary looked at Izzy and saw more than a friend, when she had a choker on like this, with her hair up like that. It made Clary’s heart ache that Jocelyn wouldn’t know, wouldn’t see it with her own eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Izzy asked, always sweet. She’d tried to make Clary lunch earlier, and Clary had gently refused. She appreciated the gesture, but Izzy’s food wasn’t really her favorite.

“I miss her… a lot,” Clary sighed out, looking at Izzy with a bit of a sad smile. She crossed her arms, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands a little. “And then there's Luke. He's just vanished.”

Izzy sighed softly as well, reaching to tuck a strand of Clary’s hair behind her ear. Clary felt herself blush at that. The brush of Izzy’s fingers on her cheek was gentle on her skin and it was so comforting. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been starved for touch lately.

“Luke will be fine,” Izzy assured. “And so will you. It just takes time.”

She was so certain about it that relief seeped through Clary and made her feel much better and much lighter than she had felt in a while. Right now, she needed to manage her every day expectations, like how she thought she would see her mom walk through the door of her bedroom whenever someone knocked. It felt like her mom had just gone on a hunt and she was waiting for her to come back. Every time she reminded herself that Jocelyn wouldn’t come back, it was like a sharp little pain in her heart.

“How's Alec doing?” Clary asked, out of nowhere almost. She wanted to distract herself a little.

“I can tell he still feels horrible for what happened to your mom,” Izzy replied. Clary guessed it was hard for the two of them. Izzy could feel what was happening with him through their bond, and she could probably tell that Alec felt guilty. And then there was everything that had happened with the yin fen and Izzy bringing Jace to the Clave, and the possession that had seemed to slide out of her.

“He can't keep blaming himself.”

Izzy’s sigh was proof enough that that was going to be hard for Alec. Clary could see Alec as this person who took every pain and hurt and put it on his shoulders, bearing the weight of blame and guilt and everything else on his own. 

“He's strong,” Izzy whispered. “He'll heal.” She spoke with such faith in her brother that it brought a small smile to Clary’s face.. Izzy shook her head a little and changed subjects. “Aldertree has tasked me with leading a mission to the Iron Sisters.” She sounded very proud of that.

Clary blinked. She knew the name from somewhere, but like many things, she was a bit clueless about exactly who or what an Iron Sister was.

“Are the Iron Sisters anything like the Silent Brothers?” Clary asked, chuckling a little. 

Izzy grinned at her and shook her head, “Well, for starters, the Sisters' mouths aren't sewn shut,” she pointed out, and Clary couldn’t help her little sigh of relief. Well that was one thing. She really hated hearing the Silent Brothers’ voice in her head when they talked. “They're badass warriors who create all of our weapons. I wanted to be one when I was younger.” 

“What stopped you?” Clary asked.

“Boys,” Izzy replied, shrugging. “I didn’t want to have to… keep myself from the company of boys. Which is somewhat a stupid reason not to follow your dream of being part of an elite order of warriors and craftswomen but… I was young.” 

Clary chuckled. “Maybe you would have regretted it though. All reasons are good reasons.” 

Izzy nodded a little. “If you're lucky enough to be accepted into the sisterhood, you're marked by sacred runes. It's what allows the Iron Sisters to shape pure adamas. The Sisters call upon the power of the angels to imbue our blades with their energy.”

That did sound like something… divine.

“Look,” Izzy added and grabbed one of the two metallic sticks that were keeping part of her hair in a bun on the back of her head. She took it in her hand and moved her hand, as if she wanted to throw the stick away. As she regained her initial position, the stick had changed into a thin, razor-sharp blade, with small runes engraved into the metal.

“Wow,” Clary gasped. “I see why you wanted to be one.”

“It’s really cool, right? I can’t wait to visit them,” Izzy grinned. She made the blade come back to its stick form and stuck it back in her hair. 

They fell silent, and Izzy’s grin faded a little as she watched Clary. Maybe her gaze was a little too intense for Clary’s taste, but.. There was also something comforting to it. 

“I hate to leave you,” Izzy said softly, almost like a whisper, after a moment of watching Clary that way. Her words obviously came from her heart, in an… almost blurted out fashion. 

Clary took a deep breath. She wanted to stay with Izzy. And well, she didn’t have much to do here except mope around and wonder about the rune and where her mom now was. 

“Then I guess I have to come with you,” she replied. 

Izzy opened wide eyes. “Clary, you just lost -” 

“My mom” Clary interrupted. “I know. But I... I can't sit here and mope.” She needed to get outside of there, before she screamed in frustration and pent-up energy. And she also wanted to be there with Izzy as she discovered the Citadel. “Besides,” Clary added. “I need to do something...  _ anything _ to stop Valentine. He is the reason my mother is dead.”

Izzy nodded solemnly. “Alright. Well get changed, get your stele and seraph blade, and join me in the ops room in 30. We’ve requested a portal from the Clave, and it is scheduled to open then. Don’t be late.” 

Clary chuckled. “Or you’re leaving without me?” 

Izzy smiled at her. “Exactly.” 

\---------------

Raphael walked out of Elaine’s bedroom and Simon couldn’t help but feel genuinely disgusted by that sight, despite the fact that he knew Raphael had been there only because he’d had to erase Elaine’s memories of the rats. And the message. 

Simon sighed deeply, and looked at the older vampire. He looked as genuinely tired as Simon felt. Honestly, it made sense. Raphael had been attacked, Simon’s family had been threatened… They had an enormous problem on their hands. 

They both gathered in Simon’s room as he put some clothing into bags. After all, he was still there to get some clean stuff. Raphael hadn’t erased that part from Elaine’s memory. 

“So, now Camille’s people want revenge,” Simon mumbled. 

Raphael sighed heavily next to him. “They do. They have rallied behind Kenneth Nelson. He used to be one of Camille’s favorite minions, utterly devoted. It seems he didn’t take well that we turned her in.” 

So that Nelson guy had been heavily manipulated by Camille and now he was out to get them, certain that murder was the right path to avenge the loss of the one who had twisted him into unwavering intense belief. He was  _ so _ looking forward to dealing with that. 

“What do we do?” 

Raphael sighed again. “Either we kill them all, or we try to make them understand that we had to turn her in. The killing option is by far the easiest right now.” 

Simon shook his head. “If we start going on a murdering spree of over half the vampire population, the Shadowhunters will think it’s a civil war and that they need to intervene, and potentially kill everyone.” 

“It  _ is  _ a civil war, Simon,” Raphael pointed out. “But you’re right that we can’t let the Clave decide for us.”

“We need to get them calmed down. Diplomatically.” 

“And we both know that Camille didn’t do diplomacy. I doubt that her followers share different opinions on how to deal with enemies.” 

\----------------

Isabelle walked to the Head of the Institute's office. She had changed from her relatively light clothing, to something more appropriate for the Adamant Citadel. After all, it was situated on a mountain, and it was colder there than it was in New York, even if it was June.

She disliked having to go crawling back to Aldertree to ask for a refill of her yin fen, as well as to ask for Clary to come with her to see the Iron Sisters. Ever since the deal they’d struck, the deal that had led her to betray her brother and give him away to the Clave, she didn’t trust Aldertree anymore.

She shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place. She should have been smarter. Aldertree was like all other Clave representatives. They were manipulative and didn’t care about what people under them felt. 

She knocked at the door and he answered. She took a deep breath and walked forward. 

“Ah, Isabelle,” Aldertree exclaimed, looking at her with a smile that made her somewhat uncomfortable. He put down his tablet. “A welcome reprieve from work.”

She walked into the room and left the door open behind her. She didn’t want to be alone in the room with him, with the door closed and no one to possibly hear or see her. Even if yin fen was illegal. She didn’t care. 

“Before I move out on mission,” she said, finding herself in a stoic military position and looking anywhere but at his face. “I would like to get a refill for yin fen.” 

Aldertree’s eyes raked over her body and settled on her hand. The hand she knew was shaking from the craving that made her come to his office right now, even if she hated the idea that she had to ask him for favors. She would get clean when they had Valentine in custody. Not before. There was no time for it. She needed to be there, strong, for her family, and for Clary.

“Close the door please,” Aldertree asked as he stood up and walked to the cabinet where he kept the yin fen. Izzy thought of declining. He must have noticed her hesitation because he turned and sent her a look that told her that if she didn’t optemperate, she wasn’t going to get her refill. 

She swallowed, walked to the door, thought of running off, but closed the door instead. 

“One more thing,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Clary would like to join the mission to the Citadel.”

Aldertree raised an eyebrow, grabbing a silver tin from the box he kept them in. “But she's not trained.” It seemed like what Izzy was saying was ridiculous to him. Izzy wanted to punch him in the face. She swallowed that and gave him her most charming smile.

“I'll keep an eye on her,” Izzy promised, charming as ever.

Aldertree hummed for a moment. He turned back to her. “You and Clary have grown close,” he pointed out and Izzy swallowed, uncomfortable.

They had. Clary and her were growing closer and closer and Izzy spent most of her time wondering how close they could get. Clary was the most amazing person Izzy had ever met, and she filled her with such warmth that it was hard to think of her as different than… the most important person in her life.

She didn’t want Aldertree to ask questions about her and Clary, and if Izzy shared the same… disposition as Clary. Izzy wouldn’t be surprised if Aldertree was one of those people who considered Clary’s liking for women to be contagious. And she wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of those men who were turned on by the idea of women having sex.

“But how well do you really know her?” Aldertree added.

Izzy swallowed. “Pretty well,” was all she replied. All she was willing to say about her relationship with Clary.

“She's Valentine's daughter,” Aldertree said. He was holding the yin fen tin in his hand and Izzy wanted to just snatch it from him and leave, running. And yes. Of course Clary was Valentine’s daughter. Everyone knew that. “And the Clave, they've expressed their concern that Valentine may have experimented on Clary. Injected her with demon blood as well.”

Izzy wanted to punch him again, this time for implying those things about Clary. Clary hadn’t even once had the same violent impulses as Jace. If the demon blood had seemed to bring out a very anger-prone and aggressive and violent side of Jace, there wasn’t even a hint of it in Clary. 

“There's no way,” she assured, keeping her smile as pleasant as she could.

“You grew up with Jace,” Aldertreee pointed out. “Never suspected he had demon blood.” Else, she would have probably treated him differently. As would have the rest of the world. 

He walked over and held out the tin. He let her get as far as touching it, but he refused to let go of it. “I will grant your request. But I'm gonna need you to report back to me everything Clary says and does.”

“You're asking me to spy on Clary?” Izzy blurted out, shocked and unsettled. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to betray yet another member of her family. Especially not Clary. 

She tried to get the tin out of his hand but he didn’t let go. Her heart stilled. Once again, she was stuck between betrayal or withdrawal. And she knew, deep down, that she wasn’t strong enough to fight it. Not after over a month of using it.

\-----------------

Izzy was on her way out of the Institute for a mission at the Iron Sisters’, but Jace needed to talk to her. 

They’d danced around the fact that Izzy had given him in to Aldertree and the Clave, trying to forget that it had happened the way it had. She hugged him tightly and left him to deal with Aldertree and the death of his mother, to find comfort in Clary. As if she thought she wasn’t his sister anymore.

Jace still thought of Izzy as his sister. He still loved her as his sister. And he needed to tell her … it was alright. He didn’t hate her. He understood, deep down, that there had to be a reason. Izzy wouldn’t have given him in for nothing. 

He found her in the Armory. He hadn’t been looking for her there, but Aldertree had put him on ichor duty for the day. He was definitely not looking forward to that. He cleared his throat, seeing her hunched over a tablet and researching something. He didn’t ask what it was. 

Izzy turned around, her mouth opening in surprise and closing in shame when she saw him. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Ichor duty,” he replied, rolling his eyes and walking towards the work table. A bucket full of various sized blades was waiting for him there, next to the drying rack. He grabbed the leather apron and the various rags he needed to do this. He hadn’t been on ichor duty for years. 

Izzy didn’t go back to her research. She hung around his work table, biting her lip like she was 12 again.

Jace looked up at her and smiled. He needed to show her that they were okay. They were similar enough that he knew she would guilt herself into an incident in the field that would hurt her.

“Aldertree has something against me,” Jace pointed out. “Do you know why?” 

Izzy bit her lip again, shrugging. “Demon blood?” She offered. “I don’t know actually. He came to the Institute a week after you left with Valentine, and he was already Edom-bent on hurting you.” 

Jace sighed deeply. Whatever it was that made Aldertree want to kill him, or humiliate him, he would deal with it. He would take the punishment and keep his head down as much as possible, right? 

“Listen,” he said, putting down the rag and looking at her. “I know you feel terrible about giving me in.”

Izzy looked away. “I should’ve-”

“Whatever he had over you… It wasn’t your fault. I know you,” Jace smiled at her. “I know you wouldn’t have given me in if he hadn’t been blackmailing you. The guy sure sounds like he would stop at nothing to get what he wants. And he wanted me in the City of Bones.” 

Izzy shook her head. “I should have been stronger.” She walked to him, taking his hand. “You’re my brother. I should have been stronger, for you.” 

Jace shook his head. “No. It’s not on you.” He sighed softly. “And I know you’re still blaming yourself despite me saying that so… I just have to say it. I forgive you.” 

Izzy looked at him with wide eyes, serious and terribly sad. Jace pulled her closer and hugged her tightly. 

“You’re my sister. I forgive you,” he repeated. “Whatever it was… it’s okay, you don’t have to beat yourself up about it. You did what you had to do. I would have done the same.”

She clutched at him, and he almost heard her whisper ‘You would have been stronger’ against his grey sweater.

\-----------------

Magnus felt like he was only taking a breath now. In the last week, after worrying for days that Clary wouldn’t take his advice and try to bring back her mother, he’d finally come back to a calmer pace. 

Alec had been a bit distant, and that made Magnus a little sad. He hoped that their small sharing of how they felt hadn’t scared the other man away. Maybe he was so uncomfortable with talking about his feelings that he just didn’t want to talk to Magnus anymore. Magnus would understand, but he would still be sad about it. 

They’d been somewhat seeing each other for over a month now, making out and talking and getting to know each other but they still hadn’t had their first date. Magnus wasn’t that traditional about proper courtship steps. He still would like to go on a date with Alec though. See him in that relaxed way he was when he wasn’t working. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have sent that fire message asking Alec to come because of an emergency. It was a trick, but Magnus truly didn’t know how else to reach him. Because he wasn’t going to walk into the Institute and beg for a date there. He had some dignity left. 

Right now, he had to focus on groceries. He hadn’t gone through his apothecary in… far too long. Months at least. It was in a huge need of refills. He walked around the shelves with a paper and a pen. 

“Good on jam,” he muttered as he went through another shelf. He liked talking to himself when he did that. Being old and living alone made him talk to himself relatively often. He didn’t mind. 

He grabbed the next jar. Werewolf fangs. He shook the jar to count the number of fangs that it still held. Far too few. 

“Restock werewolf,” he hummed. He grabbed the jar and started walking to the basket where he’d put all of the jars that he needed refilled before he went to the store. He hadn’t talked to Jonah in a while. 

The door opened then, and Alec stepped through it. He seemed like he had been rushing. “Magnus,” he called out, walking to him. “I got your fire message. What's the emergency?” His eyes stopped on the jar that Magnus was still holding and he frowned. Then there was an air of shock and light disgust on his face. “Are those -”

“Fangs? Yes.” 

Alec’s face became worse. Magnus chuckled at that.

“Very potent,” he added. “Good for digestion.”

Alec looked a bit skeptical of that last point and Magnus guessed he understood. He put the jar down with the other ones and swallowed, looking up at the man. Alec was obviously observing him and the apartment, trying to see what the emergency was.

“I'm sorry about the emergency call,” Magnus said softly. “But it was the only way to get your attention.” 

Alec stared at him. He looked tired, like he’d been working himself into the ground trying to fix everything and everyone around him for almost two weeks. Which he had. That was quintessential Alexander, Magnus was gathering. 

“Well, since you're okay, I should probably get back,” Alec said and started walking towards the door again, shaking his head a little.

Magnus took a deep breath. “I'm not okay because you're not okay.”

He saw the way Alec’s shoulders tensed at that. He couldn’t see his face but he knew that Alec was rejecting it again. He was rejecting the help, he was rejecting the very idea of opening up. 

Magnus sighed softly. He walked around Alec, putting himself between him and the door and looking up at him. Just as he’d expected, Alec looked closed off, hard lines on his face where his jaw was set and he was frowning a little.

“Alexander…” Magnus said softly and something shifted on Alec’s face for a short moment. He liked being called Alexander. “You've been to hell and back. And you haven't stopped for a second, taken a moment for yourself.”

Self-care, however trivial it might seem, was important. Magnus knew that better than anyone. One could not keep on going without taking care of oneself. Eventually, you ended up breaking apart. And usually, the breaking apart never happened at the right time. Magnus did not want Alec to freeze on the field in the middle of battle.

“Magnus, we're in the middle of a war,” Alec replied, voice harsh.

“There will always be a war,” Magnus gently put a hand on his shoulder and Alec did not move away. “A mission. A... a problem to solve. Look, I speak from experience. If you fail to grant time for the things you care about, you'll forget why you're even fighting at all.”

Fighting, duty, war, those were things that took from you but didn’t give anything back, nothing substantial at least. Alec was young, but he was so jaded and so tired already. Magnus was afraid he was going to break sooner rather than later. 

“And you’ve been distant,” Magnus whispered. “And in a very selfish way… I want to see more of you.”

Alec looked at him and took a deep deep breath. Magnus saw his jaw relaxing a little and had a small smile. He had won this round. Even if it wasn’t a competition, it felt like it was working. 

“What do you have in mind?” Alec asked and Magnus smiled. 

“Well… We still haven’t been on that date we said we would go on,” Magnus said softly, smiling at him. 

Alec licked his lips. “Marrakech, right?” He seemed to hesitate a little. “Do you mind if we stick to New York for this one? We’ll go… abroad and experiment later.”

“Bar food and drinks at the Hunter’s Moon?” 

Alec seemed to relax even more at that idea. “Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little. “That’s… that’s comfortable. Thank you, Magnus.” 

“First dates are awkward enough without having to juggle new venue and new food,” Magnus shrugged, winking at him. 

\--------------

Maia hadn’t really wanted to talk to the vampire, ever. After all, Gretel had hated him for a reason, and she wasn’t willing to fraternize with the enemies of her past girlfriend. It had been a month and Maia was still having a hard time with all of it. Going home to an empty apartment hurt less and less, but the rest, waking up alone and going to pack meetings and not seeing her were hard. 

Luke, the last person she was really close to, had disappeared a week and a half ago, and she was starting to get very worried. Especially since Alaric had called back the wolves that were out looking for their Alpha. 

So she had to deal with what she had. And what she had was herself and the vampire, who seemed to be very ready for a search, based on the conversation she just overheard between him and Alaric. Whoever he was to Luke… He wanted to find him, and not in a threatening way, unless he was really good at hiding his game.

Maia watched the vampire cross the shipyard and enter the boathouse. She knew he was living there now so she followed him.That did seem like an uncomfortable place to live. He was a vampire, she didn’t really give a fuck and it wasn’t like he really slept, right?

Maia slammed the boathouse door shut behind her and someone, the vampire, groaned, somewhere in the depths of the boathouse.

“I got the hint, Alaric,” the vampire said, obviously quite annoyed. “This is me leaving. I'm just about packed.”

Maia followed the source of the voice up. The vampire was sitting in one of the canoes that were almost at the ceiling. He seemed to be busy packing, indeed. The rest of the boathouse showed little to no sign that someone was living there.

“Looks like you barely moved in,” she said. 

The vampire looked down and sighed when he saw her. Maybe he was expecting her to be like Gretel and want to kick him out. He threw his bag onto the floor and jumped down. 

“You sleep in a canoe?” Maia asked, raising an eyebrow.

The vampire blinked and started stammering through an explanation. “Yeah, uh I guess it's not exactly... Posturepedic, but it's better than a coffin, though,” he rambled, looking up at the canoe. “Although, I've never really slept in one. So I wouldn't…”

Maia started looking through the boathouse to see how much the vampire had changed it. She hadn’t really been in it many times, but enough to know that there were some chairs that were usually not around a table-like structure, that there weren’t candles, or kippot laying around. The vampire kept rambling as she looked around.

“At home I have memory foam, which I really miss. It's, uh, developed by NASA, which I highly recommend. But you're probably not in the market for a bed, so, uh never mind.”

Maia had a small sigh and turned around to look at the vampire. He was young, and cute in a puppy way. Very different from the vampires that she’d been around for the last few years. They were all very… snobbish and arrogant. 

“Do you always talk this much?” 

“When I'm nervous,” the vampire admitted. 

“Why would you be nervous?” Maia raised an eyebrow. 

“It's just my natural disposition, I guess,” the man chuckled and he walked up to Maia. he held out his hand and sighed. “I'm Simon.”

“Maia,” she replied, but didn’t shake his hand. She wasn’t planning on making friends with a vampire, especially not someone Gretel had hated so much, she told herself again. “I heard you back there with Alaric. How do you know Luke?” 

It was unlikely that Luke would have fraternized with a vampire. He hated them just as much as most werewolves did. Maybe more even. Maia had noticed his anger at them several times, his disgust of the lives vampires led. 

“Me and Luke go way back,” Simon said, licking his lips. Maia was skeptical of that. “He's kinda like a dad to my friend Clary. He coached my little league team.” 

Oh. So Luke had known him when he was still a mundane, and that had been recent. Simon was a recently turned vampire. And Luke had taken care of him as a child. Almost like the shadowhunter girl he’d helped raised with that mother of hers, the woman that always looked angry at Maia, or disgusted at the sight of werewolves. Maia had never liked them. 

“Well,” Maia said softly. “Even though the pack stopped looking for Luke, I haven't.” She was still mad at Alaric for deciding to stop the search. Alaric was Luke’s beta. He had a duty to his alpha, and Maia honestly couldn’t believe that he was not keeping his promise to Luke.

“Really?” Simon replied, his entire face lighting up at Maia’s words. “That's such a relief. 'Cause I could really use the help. Um, we should totally-”

“There is no "we”,” Maia interrupted, rolling her eyes. She was not teaming up with the vampire. It was stupid, and reckless, and she didn’t want Luke to kill the guy, feel like shit, and get in trouble with the vampires and the Clave alike. “You know it's too dangerous for a vampire to hunt a werewolf while he's wolfing out. When we first Turn, any stress or emotion can set us off. Especially sadness.”

“Like if someone close to you died?” Simon asked.

Maia nodded at him. “If Luke's lost control, he could be out there hurting someone.” Maia didn’t believe Luke would, knowingly, hurt someone, but she knew better than anyone what it was like to turn, to turn without control. She certainly knew better than the vampire.

“No,” the vampire shook his head, and he kept on packing his things. “Luke would never do that.”

Maia gave up on explaining that Luke didn’t have much of a choice if he wasn’t in control. “I mean, can you think of anywhere he might've gone? Somewhere removed? Away from people?”

“I don't know,” he sighed, and Maia felt like screaming. He seemed to search for something, up until he looked up at her with a bit of a hopeful smile. “We used to go camping. Here,” he said, grabbing his backpack and a thermos she assumed was full of blood. “I'll drive.”

Maia rolled her eyes. “Fine. One condition.”

“Yeah?”

“We keep the talking to a minimum.”

The guy was cute, with his rambling, but she didn’t want to hear all of the stories he had had with Luke. She didn’t want to get to a stage where she knew enough to start giving a fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 15, Iron Sisters part 2!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	15. Iron Sisters Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you're doing okay in these difficult times!
> 
> Ships are sailing today ;) but the waters of love are raucous!
> 
> Today's chapter is part 2 of Iron Sisters!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Clary blinked as she stepped out of the portal. She had only taken a handful before, and she knew that she was not close to getting used to it. At all. The wind bellowed around her and she reached over for Izzy, to be sure she was staying up right. Izzy grabbed her hand and Clary felt herself find her footing.

The light was different where they were, almost duller in a way, white or silver instead of the yellow gold light that the sun tended to shine. She looked at Izzy and the woman looked like she was made of gently colored marble, smooth and shining and perfect. Izzy moved her features a little and Clary felt like the marble was going to crack under the pressure of moving.

It was colder than she’d expected, and she thanked Izzy for telling her to put on some more wintery clothing. The mountain top they were on was bare, surrounded by clouds, and the rocks were almost black. Clary’s eyes caught on something shining slightly to the side of the path. She was about to go and investigate when she caught sight of something else from the corner of her eyes. She looked up. 

At a short distance was another peak of the mountain. On top of that was a citadel. It seemed like it had been carved directly from the rock, and the greenery that escaped from the outer walls provided a hint of something that was inside. It was breathtaking. 

Clary realized as she squinted, that the white silver light didn’t come from the sun. It came from the citadel itself, from the high walls and the rings of towers. 

“Be careful where you step,” Izzy whispered. “This is a volcano.” 

Clary looked back at her friend. Izzy was looking around with eyes wider than she’d ever seen them. A delighted smile stretched her lips, and Clary knew this was a moment Izzy had waited for her entire life. 

They started making their way onto the thin path that led from where they were, outside gates both magical and of stones, to the door of the citadel. The path snaked over the dark volcanic stone, with few plants growing. Clary swallowed thickly when they reached a part of the path where on either side was a great cliff, an opening that seemed to just be waiting for someone to fall into.

Izzy grabbed her hand again and they made their way to the gates.

Flowers and plants gradually started sprouting more and more as they walked, and once they had left the little path, they started walking into a small expense of wood. The plants retreated a little again, this time obviously having been trimmed by the hand of man, and they reached a set of giant blades. 

Two giant statues of hands sprouted from the grass, both holding a giant seraph blade. They crossed in the air at the tip, forming an archway. The archway itself was blocked by two sets of three blades, coming from the same place as the hands, and crossing in the middle, keeping anything bigger than a dog from coming through. 

They opened before them as they walked up, and Izzy grinned. “This is more amazing than I imagined,” she whispered. “I can't believe I'm actually going inside.”

The garden around them was lush, they could see little signs with names of botanical plants stuck in the ground of plant beds nearby. A metallic structure like a pavilion was sitting in the middle of the grass bed they were stepping on. 

As they walked deeper into the garden, a bell rang out, loudly. They both looked up to the tower where it had come from. Neither could see anything but right as the bell ringing stopped, a high pitch ringing started. Clary and Izzy winced, and as they brought their hands to their heads, people appeared around them, out of nowhere.

The tip of a spear grazed Clary’s shoulder and she gasped. Six women clad in white were surrounding them, pointing spears and seraph blades to their throats. Had Izzy and Clary tried to run or fight, they would have died in probably less than a blink of an eye. Clary guessed they were Iron Sisters.

“Speak your names,” one of the Iron Sisters said, and the seraph blade in her hand lit up brighter.

“Isabelle Lightwood,” Izzy said, firmly and clearly.

“Clary Fairchild.”

Izzy cleared her throat at that. “Clary,” she turned to her and whispered. “True Name.”

Clary almost rolled her eyes at that. They wouldn’t let her use her mother’s name in official matters. It simply wasn’t done, no matter the stigma that came with her true name. 

“Clarissa Morgenstern,” Clary said reluctantly after a moment.

“Valentine's daughter,” another Iron Sister said, and Clary saw a hard look come across the features of the first one. 

She hated this already. She knew what was going to happen. She could feel the suspicion and the hatred in the Iron Sister’s gaze.

“Your father killed the Silent Brothers,” the Iron Sister said. “He's taken our most valuable weapon,” she added, her voice rising to an almost emotional point. It was almost strange to see that the counterparts to the Silent Brothers were much more humane. “You must leave immediately.” She ordered.

Izzy moved, stepping towards the woman and Clary. “Clary's done nothing wrong,” she defended.

“Allow me, Sister Magdalena,” said another woman, the one that had identified Clary as Valentine’s daughter. Sister Magdalena nodded and Clary and Izzy turned to the woman behind them, who still held her blade up to their throats. “What answers do you seek?” 

Isabelle straightened up. “Why did Valentine go to all that trouble to steal the Soul Sword?” 

The woman sent a look to Sister Magdalena. Sister Magdalena shook her head. She stared at Clary directly, suspicion written all over her stance. 

Clary sighed deeply. “Yes, Valentine is my father,” she said clearly. “But that man killed my mother. He experimented on my brother. I’m loyal to the Clave,” she forced herself to say. “I want to stop him more than anyone. And if we have any chance at defeating him we need your help.” 

There was a heavy silence through the garden and Clary held her breath. Sister Magdalena had dark eyes that bored into hers, and it was obvious she was testing her intentions, weighing the pros and cons of letting her walk further into the Adamant Citadel.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sister Magdalena nodded. “Sister Cleophas and I will accompany you.” The women around them put down their spears, and Sister Cleophas walked to head the group, along with Magdalena.

Clary briefly wondered if that had really been enough to change their mind, or if all of this had been a play to see where her loyalties laid. Either way, they seemed to be out of trouble now. 

They walked towards one of the buildings of the Citadel. Their pace was slower than Clary would have expected for a warrior order, but faster than she imagined nuns walking. 

Isabelle was walking by her side, and she seemed to still be smiling delightedly at everything. The Iron Sisters were in front of them and Isabelle stepped closer to them, licking her lips.

“Sister Cleophas,” she asked, a child-like curiosity and reverence peeking through her voice. Clary smiled at hearing that. She liked seeing those sides of Izzy, the ones that were sweet and almost innocent. Full of a joy that wasn’t present in the rest of her life. “How long have you been in the order?” 

“Fourteen beautiful years,” Sister Cleophas replied, and there was a smile in her voice as well. Clary felt herself relax, somewhat. She still wasn’t as comfortable as she would have been in a warm bath with a mug of hot chocolate, but it was better than it had been, for sure.

Sister Cleophas had a small sigh. “I never planned on following in my mother's footsteps. I was happy living in Idris with my sister Amatis, when my brother Lucian was scratched in a werewolf attack,” she explained. Clary blinked. Lucian, a werewolf attack? It could be a coincidence, but she doubted it was. “I did what I had to do to restore our family's honor.”

Izzy shot her a look and Clary moved up, looking at the woman. When she stared at her, she could indeed see some family resemblance. She hadn’t noticed before. She knew Luke had two sisters but… she hadn’t known much more. “Lucian… Do you mean Luke? Valentine’s ex-parabatai? Are you Luke's sister?” 

Sister Magdalena nodded, allowing Cleophas to tell her about her family.

“I am.”

Sister Cleophas looked at her. Her eyes were unreadable. Clary wished she knew if the woman was happy to know Luke was alive or not. Had she known Luke had survived? From the way she said ‘family’s honor’... It seemed that she had seen the horrible event of Luke’s Turning as a stain on the family name. What was up with Shadowhunters and family honor? 

Sister Magdalena stopped the conversation, before Clary could ask more about Luke, Cleophas, their family, their lives, all the questions on her father-of-heart’s past that she wanted to know.

“We must begin the purity trial,” Sister Magdalena said. 

Izzy tensed next to her, and Clary blinked. “What's that?” 

Sister Cleophas took a deep breath. “For the answers you seek, we must go inside the Citadel. But we cannot allow any demonic impurities to pass. The adamas is too fragile.”

Demonic impurities. Clary’s mind went back to the rune she’d seen, to the power she discovered she had. She wondered where that power came from. Jace had been given demon blood by their father. Clary didn’t think she had demon blood, but… what if she did? The purity trial would reveal it.

“So, the heavenly energy in the water will help us determine if you may enter. It will destroy any contaminant upon contact.”

And it would destroy her too. 

\-------------

Alec couldn’t help but feel nervous as he stood in the middle of the Hunter’s Moon. Magnus was ordering, paying and retrieving the drinks for the two of them, and Alec couldn’t stop fidgeting. 

He was never the kind of person to be nervous around others. He was comfortable when he had to lead, had no issues with parties. It was just somewhat different now. Because it was a date, and it was a date with Magnus, someone Alec wanted to be on a date with. 

He’d been on dates with people before, all of them women, and all of them people he didn’t want to be with. But at least, even if he hadn’t wanted to date them, they had been Shadowhunters, and they had been raised in the same culture. 

Alec remembered especially his date with Jessica Hawkblue. He’d been 16, staying in Alicante with his parents as he was allowed to shadow them and a Council Member for a few weeks. She’d been introduced to him as she was also shadowing a Council Member. He remembered liking her, a lot. She had been smart, and politically-ambitious. He remembered her as a tall, thin blonde girl who always wore her hair in a braid on the left side of her head. 

The date had gone terribly, because Alec had been 16, unaware of what he was doing, and very much not attracted to her. He’d kissed her at the end of it, because Izzy had told him several times in dreamy voices it was what boys did at the end of dates. It had been an alright kiss. 

And now… here he was. Getting drinks with a warlock. 

Not just any warlock, Magnus Bane, who was also maybe the most attractive man Alec had ever seen. He was far from the type of men Alec had found attractive before, the tall, strong Shadowhunters with good leadership and hands calloused from holding blades. Magnus was tall, and a leader, and his hands were calloused as well, but he was… not made from the mold Alec had believed to be the only right one. 

Magnus turned back towards him then, holding a beer and a cocktail in his hands. Alec assumed the beer was for him. He had seen Magnus enough times that he felt like beer wasn’t Magnus’ drink of choice. 

“Thank you,” Alec said and took the beer mug from him. It was rather heavy, and he honestly hoped this would work for him. He wasn’t much of a drinker at all, he tended not to try and find things that would dull his senses and awareness. He was used to being on the job 24/7, to never letting go of work, just in case there was an emergency and extra personnel was required. 

Jace and Izzy weren’t like that, of course. Jace and Izzy drank, and took drugs occasionally, and Alec didn’t judge them, but he had never felt like the high was worth it. He needed to be ready to work. At all times. 

“You're very welcome,” Magnus grinned and Alec couldn’t help but smile back. Magnus’ smile was contagious and he wanted to kiss him more than he wanted to drink. But this was a date, they were supposed to talk, and do something that wasn’t making out. “I'm not much of a beer drinker, but my bartender friend swears by this IPA,” Magnus explained.

“Oh, well,” Alec shrugged. “I'm not much of a drinker, period, but I'll take your word for it.”

“Cheers.”

Alec took a sip of the beverage, managing not to get too much of the white foam on top of it. It was bitter, much more than he expected. He looked at the glass and it seemed like some foamy apple juice, but it was… so different. He didn’t know if he liked it. 

In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t like it. Even the strong cocktail Magnus had made him that time he’d stayed the night after helping save Luke Garroway had been better than this. Much better. 

“You hate it,” Magnus sighed, staring at him and Alec shook his head.

“No,” he lied. “It's, um... It's great.” They both knew he was lying, but he wasn’t willing to let Magnus know that he didn’t like what he had chosen for him. He didn’t know why, but it felt better to lie. And well… maybe he would get used to the taste during the evening. 

<hr></hr>

Maia rested her forehead against the vibrating glass of the van’s window as the vampire - Simon - drove them to the camping site that he thought Luke could be hiding at. She was worried about Luke, she was worried that he would do something that he would regret. She knew the guilt that came with hurting someone while in wolf form. 

The silence wasn’t bad. It was a bit too uncomfortable though, two strangers who didn’t know what they were doing really, two people united in the love they had for a third person. 

She guessed she had to make some conversation. Be polite to the vampire. She had to. The silence was truly uncomfortable. 

“Who's Clary?” She asked. She knew who she was, vaguely, but it was better if she pretended not to. That way they had something to talk about while the man drove. 

“Hmm?” Simon hummed, looking at her for a second, before putting his eyes back on the road.

“Luke's kind of daughter?” Maia added. 

“Oh, Clary,” Simon said, and she could feel he was trying to find an appropriate anecdote. He was cute, she had to admit, in the nervous, nerd way. He was young too. He barely looked 20. “We met in first grade. Miss Hiddleston's art class. She ran to get the nurse when I had an allergic reaction to clay. So, naturally, we've been best friends ever since.”

“Best friends, huh?” She didn’t want to be that person that assumed that men and women couldn’t be friends, but she’d been… what 18? And she’d had crushes on people she had known forever. Unrequited crushes, especially. In her case, of course, Jordan, then being Turned, burnt the bridges of relationships she still had with her high school friends to the ground. 

Simon hummed again.

Maia took a deep breath. “There some other guy she's into?” 

He looked uncomfortable suddenly. “Well, she’s gay, so.” 

Ah. Ah indeed. Maia swore under her breath. She was far from homophobic. She was very surprised though, and she felt a bit like shit for implying that, now.

“Ah… Why isn’t she here?” Maia asked, to manage her awkwardness and try to dissipate the feeling of discomfort between them. “Like, helping with Luke?”

The vampire sighed so deeply that she thought his lungs were infinite. “Complicated. She and her brother, Jace… it's kind of a long story.”

She could tell that there was much more behind that than he was willing to say, but her mind latched onto the name that she’d just been given. Jace. That was a very familiar name.

“Jace Wayland?” 

Simon raised an eyebrow and looked at her for a second longer than he should have, if he was being careful about the road. “You know him?” 

Maia chuckled. “I kind of tried to kill him.”

The man looked so utterly amused that she chuckled some more. “Really?” he said, bewildered and delighted. Well, it seemed that this was one more person in the “Shadowhunters, and especially Jace Wayland, aren’t worth shit” train. Maia was getting to know a relatively important number of people who had stories of that guy being an ass. 

“Yeah, typical Shadowhunter,” Maia rolled her eyes. “They act like they're our allies, but really, they don't know what we go through just to get through the day.”

“Tell me about it,” the vampire sighed. 

She’d never really thought about the things vampires and wolves had in common, she realized. They were both being watched by the Clave because they were considered monsters. Maia wondered what it was like for the man. After all, his best friend was not only a Shadowhunter, but she was Jace Wayland’s sister. It must be pretty horrible to be around them. 

“You know,” Simon kept going. “And just when I thought I was starting to get the hang of it, I sank to the all-time low.”

“What happened?” Maia asked curiously. 

The man’s face contorted a little as he tried to tell it but failed. She raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, now you're quiet?” Maia chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Look, man, I've been through some pretty horrible things myself, so I get it.”

“Like what?” Simon asked, and she sighed. 

She was really going to tell her life story to a vampire. This was the state she was in right now, willing to just share her life and forget all about her self-inflicted rule of not ever fraternizing with the enemy. She needed to remind herself that Simon, even if he was cute and anxious and basically a teenager, was an undead killing machine. 

“I've actually never told anyone this,” Maia started saying, even if she didn’t really want to share. “but, um you know that nightmare you have about showing up to school naked?” 

Simon’s hum already had an amused quality to it. She might regret it at some point, but fuck this. She was in a car with a total stranger, and she needed to get some conversation going or she would go insane wondering about Luke. And it was better than a Shadowhunter, after all.

“Well, after an unexpected transformation…” Maia continued. “I came out of it butt naked and late for Marine Physio and Behavior.” 

Simon made an exaggerated face. “No way...”

Maia laughed. She remembered the running around through the corridors of her building, trying desperately to think of where she could find clothing. “It was horrible.”

“What did you do?” Simon asked, half curious and half dreading the answer.

“I hid in an empty classroom until everybody left,” Maia chuckled. “And, luckily, I found a cheerleading uniform to wear, but, in hindsight, it probably would've been less embarrassing to just be naked.” 

“Okay. I will raise you one,” Simon chuckled and it seemed like he was gonna tell her what he had done that was so bad. “I was holed up at home with nothing to feed on. No food. And we've been having, like, a rodent problem lately.”

Maia gasped. Oh my God, that was horrible. “You didn't.”

“Oh, yeah. I did,” Simon nodded, looking at her a little in between staring at the road. 

Maia rolled her eyes and laughed. “That's so vile.”

“Munching down,” Simon added and Maia made a face of horror.

“Yuck, but it could be worse. You could've been sucking on a rat naked,” Maia pointed out and he laughed as well. Maybe talking to a vampire wasn’t so bad...

<hr></hr>

The pool match had been… intense. Alec had expected to have to pretend he wasn’t as good as he was, because of archery. He had expected to let Magnus win for the sake of it, because he liked Magnus and that was what people did when they went on dates, right? Guys let their girlfriends win at pool, darts, chess, bowling… Magnus wasn’t a girl, but Alec had thought he would be the one to take the ‘let win’ thing. How mistaken he was. 

When he was playing, Magnus smirked in a way that made shivers run down Alec’s spine. Competitiveness and the banter that accompanied it were delightful. It was nothing like he’d expected.

The match had lasted a while, both using their own tricks to try and get the other to flinch and lose focus. Magnus was good at using his charm for that, at pouting at the right moment for Alec to miss, voluntarily or not. Alec loved this. He loved the buzz he felt around Magnus. Even if he was starting to think it was also due to the alcohol.

“I suppose we both have a healthy dose of the competitive spirit,” Magnus chuckled, as they walked back to the bar for a second round of drinks. Or third? Alec wasn’t really counting. His attention was on Magnus, on his laughs and smiles and smirks and the way the light reflected in his shiny eyeshadow, his rings and his earrings.

“Do we?” Alec asked, smirking at him.

“Oh, I like it, truly. My favorite kinds of people have a competitive spirit.” 

Alec guessed it also made things interesting in the bedroom. He blinked, catching himself with those thoughts that he usually repressed. Alcohol and Magnus, those were the ingredients that made him think that way, liberated for a moment of the closet in his mind.

They sat together at the bar, and Alec took a deep breath. “I know I might ruin the mood right now… but I feel like we need to talk about a couple of things.” 

Magnus hummed. “This is a first date, I think this is the moment where we put some difficult things out there.”

They got their drinks and Alec took a sip. He guessed it was for courage, but it was also to give himself some composure. Magnus did the same next to him, his shoulders betraying his facade of fake relaxation. 

“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone,” Alec admitted. “There were a couple girls… that I kissed, that I tried to be with, but I was a kid, and I was trying something that I knew was going to fail. So… In that aspect… The thing that I want for us isn’t something I have any experience with.” 

Magnus looked at him then, and Alec couldn’t read his eyes, or his expression. Alec swallowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him. Maybe it was too much and Magnus wasn’t going to want to be with him when he knew that Alec was so… unexperienced.

<hr></hr>

The cold air of the Adamant Citadel made Clary shiver as she and Isabelle walked out of one of the small buildings on the other side of the garden to the main buildings. They had been given white lacey dresses to wear to the purity trial. The sleeves ended right before their elbows, and the hem hit right above the knee. 

They were led down a simple flight of stairs to a small basin of dark teal water, that reflected the light in a way that was way too strong to be normal water. The basin itself was square-shaped and lined with a hedge. To access it, Isabelle and Clary walked up a small set of stairs, onto a metal bridge which crossed over the hedge then down another small set of stairs which disappeared into the water.

Around the bridge and the basin, over a dozen Iron Sisters stood, holding spears and Seraph blades. Clary didn’t doubt that they were ready to kill any demon-infected creature that the water didn’t kill itself. 

She understood why Isabelle had wanted to be a part of the order. The women around them looked majestic and strong, with their white robes, the grey belts and knee-high boots and the braids in their hair. 

They held a knowledge that was no doubt ancient, and powerful. Clary did not want to cross them. She peered at the dark water. She didn’t want to cross  _ that _ either, whatever it was.

“Clary, you can't do this,” Isabelle muttered then, looking at the water as well. She’d said it in a way that didn’t make her lips move in a very perceptible way, and it was obvious she was trying to hide their conversation. 

Clary shook her head. 

Isabelle sighed, and got a little closer to her. “You heard her. It's dangerous.”

She knew, deep down, what Isabelle meant. She knew there were risks, but she was willing to take them. Whether she had demon blood or not, there was no doubt that the water would clear the mystery for them. And then… They’d know. 

“We'll be fine,” Clary replied. “There’s only a 50/50 chance he did the same to me as he did to Jace. Besides, Valentine himself seemed to think I didn’t have Jace’s powers.” 

He had indeed very much ignored the idea that she might be of help in the fight against demons. He’d only seen her as a way to get Jace to use his powers against them. Valentine hadn’t known about her ability to create runes. 

“But what if it's not fine? What if it was hidden?” Isabelle insisted. Clary could tell the Iron Sisters were getting annoyed by their whispering.

“You think I have demon blood. Like Jace,” Clary summed up. “There's only one way to find out.”

Isabelle choked up a “no” but Clary was already half-way down the stairs. Sister Magdalena got up on the bridge and stood by Isabelle’s side. It was obvious that she was tense. 

The water was surprisingly not cold. The basin was shallow, though she wouldn’t necessarily have guessed it from outside, since the water was very dark and opaque. It barely reached up to her knees. 

Clary crouched, sitting back into the water and laying there, letting herself float up. The water was warm around her, comforting almost. The white dress stuck to her body as it got wet. Isabelle was staring at her. 

“Ignis aurum probat,” Sister Magdalena announced in a clear voice.

The water moved around her slightly, but didn’t change temperature. She closed her eyes and felt it suddenly, like a rush of light thrusting through her entire body, the angelic blood in her veins coming alive as it touched it. She gasped. She remembered the feeling of the seraph blade, the first time she’d held one, and the feeling of reaching into the tarot card and holding the Mortal Cup. It was like that in a way. Her angelic blood coming alive in her veins. It was wonderful. 

She felt the light retreat eventually, and she was left almost shaking when the angelic energy in her went back to its usual quiet slumber. 

“Clarissa Morgenstern,” Sister Magdalena called, and it brought Clary back to reality. Isabelle seemed to be breathing easier. Clary sat up in the basin. “You are deemed clear of all demonic impurities.”

Clary stood up, water dripping down her body. The dress stuck to her tightly, and there was no escaping the transparency or the way it hugged her developing abs. Isabelle swallowed visibly and Clary couldn’t help but smirk at that. She walked back up the stairs and even if the air was cold, Isabelle’s eyes on her wet and dripping body were hot.

Isabelle avoided her eyes after a second, before she walked into the basin herself. She laid into the basin, closed her eyes and waited. Her dark hair disappeared in swirls into the dark water under her head, and she looked paler than she ever had before.

“Ignis aurum probat!” Sister Magdalena exclaimed again. 

Clary watched as a light seemed to envelop Isabelle’s body, coming from the depths of the basin. It had been a real light she’d felt earlier then, not just something made of only magic. It played over Isabelle’s face and legs beautifully for a moment, before it dimmed suddenly. 

Clary gasped in shock as the water darkened, to the point that it seemed to suck the light out of the air around them. The water bubbled, starting to boil around Isabelle and the woman groaned in what seemed to be pain. She fought against the tumultuous waters, and Clary prayed that she was going to find her footing. 

“Izzy! No!” Clary screamed when Isabelle’s head disappeared under the bubbling surface. 

She felt Sister Magdalena’s hands on her arms as she rushed forward, but all it did was scratch her. She walked into the water, feeling the unbearable heat against her legs as she grabbed Izzy’s arm and yanked her up as hard as she could. 

Isabelle gasped for air, loudly, her eyes wide and terrified.

Clary pulled her against her and forced her out of the water that seemed to grab onto Izzy’s legs as they got up, and out of the basin. 

It calmed down the second Izzy’s feet were out of there, and Clary swore loudly. She looked up at the two Iron Sisters that were watching them, glaring at Isabelle with derision.

“What happened?” Clary asked, loudly, angrily.

“The water does not lie but perhaps you do,” Sister Magdalena said, a clear annoyance and scorn on her face. 

“I don't know what you're talking about. I don’t have demon blood,” Isabelled stuttered, trying to regain her breath and work herself out of the feeling of shock.

“Demonic impurities are not only of blood,” Sister Magdalena’s voice was cold. Colder than anything Isabelle had ever felt before. “You are tainted, Isabelle Lightwood. We can’t let you inside of the Citadel.” 

Clary opened wide eyes. “No, this has to be a mistake. She was recently possessed by a demon, maybe that's what the water reacted to. But she's fine now. She fought it, it got out,” Clary added. 

“You are free to leave, if that is what you desire.”

Clary opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn’t want to leave Izzy behind. She didn’t want to take Izzy’s dream from her, to be the one to walk into the Citadel, not her. Izzy had been the one to want this for years. 

“No,” Izzy panted. “You go ahead. We need answers.”

The look in Izzy’s eyes told her that there was no use in trying to reason with her. Clary nodded, reluctantly and let go of her. She didn’t want to leave Izzy behind, to leave her with the Iron Sisters who looked at her like she was wrong. Izzy was right. They had to get answers. They had to fulfill the mission. Even if they both hated the situation. 

<hr></hr>

Maia usually enjoyed the woods. The smells were deep and right and earthy, less covered by petrol and human scents than parks were, in the city. She often went to Prospect Park to run or read or just spend time, but nature smells were dulled by the city. 

She would have enjoyed tonight’s specific excursion into the woods had she not been accompanied by a young vampire and searching for her mentor who could be in the middle of tearing apart someone innocent. 

“Full disclosure, I'd rather be hunting in the woods of Far Cry 3,” she mumbled. For some reason, chatting with the vampire in the car had made her feel more comfortable. He was young, and sweet. 

“Really?” Simon asked. The surprise in his tone made her raise a questioning eyebrow to him. “I just never would have pegged you for a gamer,” he explained. 

Maia chuckled. “You know werewolves are normal people, right? We like stuff like football and video games and shopping, like everyone else. We just happen to be able to turn into wolves.” 

Simon nodded. “Sorry. I’m new to all of this.” 

“Shadow People, we’re just normal. Especially us, werewolves. We eat normal food, we have normal lives. No… nighttime-only. No diet, except for the fact that we eat a lot. We do use a lot of energy, even in human form.” 

Simon hummed. “I tend to assume that Downworlders are all weird, like vamps or warlocks.” 

“Downworlders is what the Shadowhunters call us. It’s derogatory,” Maia corrected. “We call ourselves Shadow People, or Shadow Kinds. And if you think vampires and warlocks are weird, you will be shocked the first time you meet a Seelie.” She chuckled.

“Seelies?” Simon asked. “Wait… nevermind, I’ll find out when I have to,” he sighed. 

Maia laughed at that, and shook her head. “Far Cry is one of my favorites. I also love anything Assassin's Creed,” she explained. When I first Turned, I'd spend hours playing video games. Just me and endless bags of potato chips. I was terrified to go out. Afraid that I would hurt someone. That I wouldn't be able to control myself.”

The memories of that, the way the world outside had seemed so full of things that could be broken by Maia’s hand. People that could die. People that would hate her forever, that would become monsters like her, that would be as scared as she was. It had been horrible. 

“Well, you seem very in control now,” Simon complimented as they walked further into the woods. “At least, as far as I can tell.”

“Yeah,” Maia sighed heavily. “Well, thank Luke for that.”

_ The smell of blood was overwhelming. It was caked over her hands, stained on her clothing where her hands had touched. There was blood outside, and for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, she could smell it, stronger than she’d ever smelled something before. It was enveloping her. Human blood.  _

_ She was sitting in an ambulance. She could hear people outside, and there were dogs. Footsteps and breathing, and soft voices muttering things. She could have focused on what they were saying and listened to them, but she didn’t. She didn’t have time. _

_ Her mind settled on the footsteps that were coming towards the ambulance, and walked up the small stairs on the side of it. She looked towards the door. A man stepped through it, black and with a cop’s uniform. She tensed immediately. She didn’t like, or trust, cops.  _

_ When Jordan had attacked her, they hadn’t been useful. She had healed too fast, even if the scars remained. They’d looked months old in days, and the police hadn’t believed her when she’d told them about the attack, and how he’d left her. They’d had her drug tested and sent home, with some advice about getting therapy. _

_ “It's Maia, right?” The cop asked.  _

_ She nodded, barely. She wanted to leave. She wanted this to be over. The blood was overwhelming, and so was the guilt, even if she didn’t realize where it came from. She felt empty.  _

_ “You're gonna be okay.” _

_ Right. Her hands were covered in blood that wasn’t hers, and it was staining the jeans she had been given. _

_ “Probably just going through shock. How about I sit right here? Ride with you to the hospital?”  _

_ “What am I gonna say, "No"? You're a cop.” _

_ Maia hated the way her voice sounded. It was empty, far away. Her usual snark was entirely gone, and she couldn’t bring it back. She was tired. She wanted to go home, not to the hospital. She didn’t want the healthcare bill. Because even if she was covered in blood, she felt… she felt okay. No pain, no foreign feeling. Just… normal. _

_ “I gather you're not a big fan of the police,” the cop said after sitting. Maia huffed. She was a black woman in America. She didn’t trust the police, at all. Even him, even if he seemed nice. “Probably met a few who abused their power. Well, I'm not like them. I know what you're going through.” _

_ “How?" Maia snapped, turning her head to look at him. She could deal with the stuff about not being like the other cops, partly because he was Black and maybe it meant that he was truthful. But she couldn’t deal with the “I know what you’re going through”. “I don't even know what I'm going through,” she admitted. How could he claim to understand? What did he know about her, about this situation?  _

_ This situation… The anger, the pain, and the shift. The foreign sensation in her blood. Her bones breaking and the smell of blood and… “The last thing I remember, there was this girl and Oh, God.” She stopped. The girl, her blood, her face so close to Maia’s fangs…. “Did I?”  _

_ “No, no,” the cop reassured immediately, and for some reason, it made her relax. “She'll live. We just have to watch her. Make sure she doesn't Turn.” _

_ “Turn?” Maia blurted out, her arms coming to wrap around her stomach as she looked down at herself. Turn? Maybe that was the… cracking she’d felt. The pain, the foreign consciousness in her own body that was familiar somehow. The thing that had pushed through and gotten out. The thing that had hurt the girl. “What are you talking about?” She asked. She knew what he was talking about. She remembered seeing her own hands covered with fur, paws instead of fingers.  _

_ The man looked at her, right in her eyes. His eyes changed. They glowed bright green, unnatural, definitely magical. The same green… Jordan’s eyes that night.  _

_ “Are you…” Maia stumbled, even if she already knew the answer. She looked down at her hands covered in blood. “Am I?” She felt nausea rising into her throat as she shifted, moved away, as if moving away would leave the wolf behind.  _

_ “Yes.” _

_ Jordan, that night, the dog that had attacked her. His horror as he left her on the ground. The blood around her, too overwhelming, and she could smell it and… “No,” she shook her head and stood up. It had to be wrong.The man had to be mistaken. He was probably crazy, imagining things. Werewolves didn’t exist. “No. This isn't happening.” _

_ He grabbed her, kept her from walking out of the ambulance. Distress rose inside of her and so did the Wolf. She could feel it, both a part of her and a different entity at the same time. She felt tears on her face. Her throat was raw with the hard sobs that wretched their way out.  _

_ “Maia,” the man said, looking at her. “Maia, calm down. You have to control yourself.” _

_ Control herself. The change… the girl. It was the full moon tonight and… she’d been in that alley, with the rain, and her mind hadn’t stopped conjuring the images of  _ that  _ night.  _

_ “Our changes are linked to our emotion. Now, you don't wanna hurt anybody else, do you?” _

_ She managed a sobbing “no”.  _

_ “Okay,” the man said softly. “You’re going to be okay.” Maybe because he was another wolf, maybe because he was older, she felt some sort of calm wash over her as he guided her to sit back down. Her sobs were less intense, and she wasn’t shaking as much, and the man looked at her steadily, gently.  _

_ He let go of her arms, but kept a hand on her hand. She was grateful for it.  _

_ “The first time…” the man started. “That's always the worst. But you learn to control it.” _

_ Maia didn’t want to have to control it. She didn’t want to have to live like this, afraid of feeling things, always afraid of hurting everyone . She wanted her old life back, before Jordan had ripped it to shreds, and left her with this… fucked up gift. _

_ “You just can't give in to yourself. You gotta fight. And those who care about you, they'll fight with you.” _

_ Her apartment was empty, her parents were far away. She had no one. She was going to be this… lone wolf, this abomination forever. “I don't have anyone that cares about me.” Maia said, voice breaking under the weight of the exhaustion and the feelings. _

_ The man shook his head. “You do now. You’re one of us. You’re part of the Pack.” _

Maia looked down. Luke… Luke was the one person that had saved her from a life in the shadows. She knew she wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for him. And she wasn’t willing to give up, not ever, even if Alaric ordered her to. Luke was her Alpha, and he was her friend. He was the one person she had left right now, now that Gretel was gone. 

“You smell that?” Simon said, taking her out of her thoughts. 

She breathed in, and it immediately saturated her nose. “Blood. This way.” It didn’t smell like human blood. She guessed that was for the best. 

They walked further, and stumbled upon the source of the smell. The devoured body of a deer. Luke was in his wolf form, and he was going on a rampage. He was probably blinded by grief for Jocelyn. It had been days, and Maia couldn’t help but worry. If he stayed in his wolf form too long, if he wasn’t able to control himself… He could stay feral. 

<hr></hr>

Magnus downed the last of his martini. The olive was still on its little pick, goading him, but he didn’t feel like eating it. He didn’t know what to say to Alec. Alec who had just told him he’d never been in a relationship before, as if it was a shameful secret.

It wasn’t a big deal to Magnus, but it seemed to be one for Alec. Which left him a bit lost on how to keep going. There was no shame in not having had a relationship before, romantic or sexual, especially not when you were a 23-year-old gay Shadowhunter. Nephili society wasn’t open to queerness. 

“You're weirded out,” Alec said when Magnus stayed silent. 

He shook his head, realizing he should not have stayed silent this long. Alec’s obvious anxiety about this situation had only been made worse by Magnus’ silence.

“I’m not,” Magnus assured.

In truth, Magnus had gathered a while ago that Alec hadn’t really had this kind of relationship before. Not only from the context of Alec’s life, but from the curiosity and hesitation in most of his actions around Magnus. He found it incredibly endearing.

Alec sighed deeply. “You wanna know why I haven't been in a relationship?” He asked, and Magnus realized again that he’d made a mistake. Alec was anxious, and he was really fucking up the reassuring part. Alec shifted in his seat and looked around. His hands spoke before him, moving and gesturing at the two of them, at the drink in front of him, at himself. “Because of this. 'Cause I didn't wanna feel like there was something wrong with me, because I grew up in the Institute, because I always knew I couldn't have what I wanted until you came along.”

Magnus looked up at him and smiled. He wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay from now on, but it was not going to stop being hard for Alec, or for them. Not any time soon. They both remembered the big incident, over a month ago, and Magnus knew that there had been others. Alec kept him updated, doing good on his promise not to shut Magnus out. It would never be easy for Alec, not with the Clave the way it was.

“Nothing's wrong with you,” Magnus assured. “Far from it.”

“I feel like it though,” Alec admitted, and Magnus reached over to touch his wrist, a gentle, reassuring touch. “Compared to Izzy, or Jace…”

Magnus shook his head a little. He turned in his seat to look at Alec more directly. 

“Comparing yourself to others,” he started, trying to catch Alec’s eyes but failing for now. “Especially when it comes to relationships, and sex, is never a good idea,” he explained. “ You’re not Jace or Izzy. You’re a different person, with different circumstances,” he reminded him, squeezing Alec’s wrist a little. Alec looked up at him then, something a bit tired and soft in his eyes. “And… you’re queer,” Magnus whispered. “The timeline of life, the whole… meet someone, get married, have children thing, it works differently for people like us, whether it be in the mundane world or the Shadow World.” 

Alec watched him with eyes that pierced through him. Magnus knew the world Alec came from. He knew the expectations placed upon him, as a Lightwood, as the first born. He knew the way the Clave pushed marriage and children, pushed for Nephilim to give more soldiers for the cause, as soon as they could. It was better than it had been before, for sure, it was getting easier for people to push back the deadlines of marriage and procreation, but the pressure still existed.

“You must have plenty of exes,” Alec shifted the conversation to another subject, maybe to the one that was really an issue for him. Magnus’ history. Magnus took a deep breath. He’d been expecting this.

“I’m also over 300 years old,” Magnus whispered. “Of course, I haven’t been celibate for the centuries of my life. That doesn’t mean you’re any… less important to me.” 

“How many people have you been with?” Alec asked, bluntly, in the way he did when he asked for things he wasn’t truly comfortable talking about. “Romantically… and otherwise.”

“I didn’t keep a count.” 

“Just… an approximate number.” His eyes pleaded for an answer and Magnus took a deep breath.

“I…” He started. It was complicated. He had been with a lot of people, sexually at least. He was the kind of person who liked closeness, who liked having people in his bed. Especially when he didn’t feel good. Especially when getting lost in their bodies was the thing keeping him from thinking about his issues. 

“Several thousands,” he said, quietly but firmly. That was as close to the truth as he could get without having kept an actual count. “If you count all sorts of hook-ups and… relationships and dalliances… Definitely over 10 thousand.” 

“Over 10 thousand…” 

Magnus’ hand shifted, but stayed on Alec’s wrist. It was the only comfortable place it could be right now. He wanted to keep that touch though, this physical tether between the two of them. “Right now I'm here. With you.” 

Alec looked at him, unsmiling. “Yeah, me and 10,000 other memories.”

Magnus nodded. “I’ve been with people. I’m not going to tell you I haven’t. I’ve loved, and I’ve desired. I’m someone who likes intimacy, sexual or otherwise. I am who I am, history and all. And you are who you are. And all the magic in the world can't change that.”

Alec swallowed. Magnus hoped it had been enough, because he wasn’t going to apologize for his relationship history. He wanted to reassure Alec, of course, but he wasn’t going to put himself down for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 16, Iron Sisters part 3!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	16. Iron Sisters Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you're doing okay in these difficult times!  
> Today's chapter is part 3 of Iron Sisters!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Jace didn’t know which was worse: the humiliation or the stench. He’d forgotten what wiping demon ichor off blades for hours felt like. It was exhausting and smelled terrible.

They all knew he was being punished. They all saw the great Jace Wayland, now Jace Morgenstern, in a corner of the Armory, on ichor duty, instead of being out there on the field, on patrol, just doing anything more glorious than ichor duty.

Jace hated it. He hated their smug looks and the leather apron and the smell of demon guts. It was fine when they had just killed one and were moving away from it, but right now, several hours in, it felt like it was enveloping him. He could have puked.

He sighed softly and walked over with the newly cleaned blade, putting it over on a rack. He stretched a little. He hated being confined to the Institute. He could feel restless energy curling into his bones and he just needed to shake it all out. He’d go train for a while the second he was done with this. 

If he was ever done.

Aldertree was on a war path, and it was obvious. Jace didn’t really understand why. After all, he’d saved the guy’s life, and all he got was this. Ichor duty. Never going back outside. For a second, he understood Hodge. 

He somehow couldn’t believe Hodge was gone. That man had raised him for half of his life, betrayed him suddenly and now he was gone. Dead, buried in the Cemetery of the Disgraced, no doubt. It made Jace a little sick to think about it. No one deserved to be in the Cemetery of the Disgraced, buried alone, far away. 

Jace swallowed. He was a Morgenstern now. He’d told Aldertree that he didn’t trust in the Clave, couldn’t pledge allegiance to it fully. Maybe he was on his way to a lonely grave, on that small hillside far from the City of Bones, or from the center of the city. 

Jace reached over for another blade but his hand closed up on nothing. The bucket was empty. Finally. He sighed, leaning back against a pillar. Now he just had to wait until his shift was over.

He barely had time to breathe out that heavy steps resounded in the corridor. Four people, coming back from a hunt. With blades probably dripping with ichor, since no one knew to carry a wiping rag with them, it seemed. 

Jace sighed as they each walked by the bucket, dumping seraph blades in it with smug smiles. One of them, that Jace recognized vaguely, smirked at him directly, looking at him in the eyes.

“Make it shine,” he said. That guy had always envied Jace’s place on Team 1. Now, Jace was demoted down to the very bottom of the hierarchy, on the same level as Shadowhunters-In-Training. And that guy was probably delighted.

Jace got to work, but this time, the repetitive motions of wiping ichor didn’t stop his annoyance from rising. He’d managed to keep his anger at bay for most of the day but now… he was  _ tired.  _ He grabbed the rag, and walked.

It dripped ichor on the floor of the corridors, but he didn’t care. He really wanted to see the ichor drip on Aldertree’s face. He decided against throwing it in the man’s face at the very last moment. 

The sloppy, overused rag hit the Head of Institute’s desk, staining the papers that Aldertree was signing.

The man looked up at Jace, who stood there, the apron still on, arms crossed. Aldertree had a bit of a smirk on his face - it made Jace start to wonder whether it was permanently stuck that way - but in his eyes, Jace could see he was mad. 

“I thought you'd at least last till the end of your shift,” Aldertree said, his voice obviously disgusted.

The rag was indeed disgusting, Jace was aware of that, and he was getting the reaction he wanted. He was tired, and he just wanted to be left alone. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Jace asked. He stood next to Aldertree’s chair instead of in front of the desk. “I proved that I wasn't in league with Valentine but you're still treating me like I was. And everyone else here is questioning my allegiance.”

He couldn’t work and stay in the Institute if everyone thought that there was something about him worth punishment like this. If he was still being watched by the Clave for his activities with Valentine. Jace didn’t doubt that he was still being watched closely, but he also knew the Clave liked to watch everyone. 

“As they should,” Aldertree replied. Jace wanted to scream. He had saved the man’s life, and he was really starting to regret it.

Aldertree grabbed the tablet on his desk, wiped the drops of ichor from it and selected a video file to read. Jace recognized himself on the video, standing with the Soul Sword in his hands. Aldertree’s back was to the camera.

In front of him, Jace watched the replay of his answer to Aldertree’s question. Could he pledge his unconditional loyalty to the Clave? He’d tried to evade it, but he hadn’t been able to stop the pull of the Soul Sword on his mind.

He guessed that Aldertree was right in a way. A soldier that couldn’t pledge total allegiance to the Clave was dangerous, and shouldn’t be trusted. But Jace needed his Institute to trust him right now. He needed to have his home. He didn’t want to have the people he had trained and lived with turn on him because of Valentine’s blood in his veins or the Morgenstern name on his file.

“Turn it off,” Jace asked. His voice had lost its fierceness. “What do you want from me?” 

He knew it was a dangerous question to ask, because Aldertree held his home and future in his hands. And from what had happened with Izzy, Jace knew the man didn’t have any qualm blackmailing people to get what he wanted. For some reason that Jace still couldn’t pinpoint, Aldertree wanted his life to be a nightmare.

Aldertree chuckled, looking at him like he had something over him, smirking. The anger in his eyes had disappeared. “It's my job to make sure our Shadowhunters are protected. To do that, they must know the truth about you.”

The bastard. Aldertree was trying to flush him out of the Institute. The Clave’s decision to pardon him had stopped Aldertree’s plans to have him be exiled. Now he was pushing him to exile himself.

“You want me to leave,” Jace whispered. That perspective terrified him. He didn’t want to be alone in the world again. He’d had nightmares about losing his father and the Lightwoods never picking him up for years. “But you don't have the authority to kick me out, so you're making my life hell. And now you're trying to sabotage any shred of credibility I have left?” 

He imagined the Institute, the people he’d known for over a decade, for half of his life, turning against him. All of those faces, all of the people he considered family and home… He imagined them snarling insults at him. They had already been colder than usual after learning he was a Morgenstern, but if they knew that his allegiance wasn’t to the Clave… They would shun him. He couldn’t deal with that. It would break him.

“If you choose to stay,” Aldertree continued, a smirk on his lips as he knew well that he was hitting the last nail into Jace’s coffin. “I'll have no other choice but to show everyone who they're living with. Who they're fighting alongside.”

Jace shook his head. It wasn’t as hard of a choice as he thought it would be. He couldn’t lose them entirely. He couldn’t watch as they all turned against him and pushed him away. He couldn’t deal with the hatred. He’d rather leave, scorch the earth behind him, than have his people push him out.

“I’ll pack my things and say goodbye.” 

Aldertree’s smirk somehow got even crueler. “I want you gone by the time your sister and Isabelle Lightwood come back.” 

<hr></hr>

The inside of the Adamant Citadel was like a Florentine palace, like the inside of the Museum of Offices that Clary had looked at so many times in her art books. Florence was in the top 3 cities she wanted to travel to. Would she ever get to, now that she was a Shadowhunter?

Maybe she could. She could ask for Magnus to portal her and Isabelle to Florence or Rome or Milan. They could walk through Piazzas and eat gelati and the Italian sun would warm Izzy’s golden skin. They would be happy, and Clary would sketch her amidst marble busts of Roman goddesses and she wouldn’t look out of place.

A sudden pang of worry clutched Clary’s heart. Izzy wasn’t okay, she had demonic impurities and Clary had left her all alone with the Iron Sisters. 

“What are they going to do to Izzy?” Clary asked, as Sister Cleophas led her down a wide corridor. 

She trusted Cleophas to tell her the truth because she was Luke’s sister. It was a bit of a flimsy reason, but it was all she had. She chose to believe that Cleophas was compassionate and warm, just like Luke was. 

Cleophas looked at her with a smile. “Just like you were, Isabelle Lightwood is being given her clothing back, and helped dry up. The ceremonial dress she was wearing will be burned. Demonic impurities cannot enter in any way.”

Clary was relieved that they weren’t going to hurt Izzy, even if she wondered why Cleophas and Sister Magdalena had let her rescue her. Maybe because it was obvious that Izzy wasn’t a demon, but rather just a victim. Whatever had happened for Izzy to get tainted with demonic energy… it wasn’t her fault.

“You came to know why Valentine would want the Soul Sword so desperately that he would break into the City of Bones and massacre so many Silent Brothers for it,” Cleophas said. She talked with grace and dignity.

The Iron Sisters looked more human than Silent Brothers but Clary was starting to see a bit of their otherworldliness as well. She didn’t know what happened to all of these people to make them so strange, and she didn’t think she really wanted to know. 

Clary could barely imagine Izzy with the same braided hair, the same white robe and the same stillness of spirit and eyes. She was glad she hadn’t become an Iron Sister. After all, Clary wouldn’t have gotten to know her and care for her in the same way. If she’d only met Alec and Jace, or maybe none of them at all. It would have been a different world, without Isabelle in the Institute. 

“We did. We’re trying to get ahead of him, or at least at the same level,” Clary replied. She was a bit surprised of how easily she was talking about this, going on a mission. It was only her second ever actual mission. And now she was leading it, instead of just watching Izzy or Alec.

“I need to show you something,” was all that Cleophas replied as they walked into a bigger, square room lined with candelabras, with seraph blades of various shapes and sizes fixed to the walls.

They stopped almost in the middle of the room, at the edge of a design in the hardwood floor. The symbol was a large circle with a strange heart or 3 shape inside of it, crossed by a stylized sword. It made Clary think of the Iron Sisters in a way. It was perhaps a symbol of their order.

Cleophas crouched down, taking out a stele and touching the tip of it to the circle. The entire symbol glowed a coppery red, the shade of hot iron being struck and worked by smiths. She then looked up at the ceiling and Clary followed her eyes.

The ceiling had a round fresco of the same size as the pattern on the floor. Under Clary’s eyes, the images started to move slightly, the clouds in the painted sky flying by behind the characters.

In the background, almost disappearing within clouds were eight women, holding swords. In the forefront were an angel and a man. The man had runes over his body and the antique-like clothing that was often used in fresco depictions of myths and legends. The angel’s clothing and helmet were familiar, and so was the great sword he was holding, giving to the man.

“Long ago,” Cleophas started, narrating the image for Clary. “The Angel Raziel bestowed the Mortal Instruments to the first Shadowhunter. Among them, the Soul Sword.”

This was why the sword looked familiar, it was the Soul Sword. She’d seen it in books in the Institute, held by the statue of Raziel in the City of Bones and up close when the Silent Brothers suspended it above her head to try to recover her memories. It looked beautiful on the fresco as well. It had been painted in a way to make it glow on the background. 

The gard was golden, worked in a wing-like shape on both sides of the blade. Even on the fresco, it looked holy.

“Its primary purpose is to compel the truth, but it has a secondary purpose,” Cleophas continued. The seriousness in her voice made Clary look away from the ceiling and back at the dark-skinned woman. She could already feel that the secondary purpose was sinister. Why else would Valentine want it so badly? “If ever the day came where Shadowhunters failed in their holy mission, and demons overtook the world...” 

They both looked back at the fresco. The image had changed entirely. Forming an outer ring in the round drawing was a crowd of humans, faces distorted by pain and fear. Fires erupted in between them as some changed into monsters, covered in fur or fanged, with horns or goat legs or ugly-looking vines growing over their flesh. Overhead, winged demons flew and snatched humans from the crowd. 

Clary choked a noise of terror and fear.

The runed man from earlier, the first Shadowhunter, holding the Soul Sword came onto the picture. Halos surrounded the man’s free hand and his head.

“As a last resort,” Cleophas explained. “the Sword could be activated with angelic energy, releasing heavenly light that would destroy all demon-blooded creatures in its path.”

As the Shadowhunter raised the Sword, a light erupted from it, and in the blink of an eye the crowd became human again, pale bodies devoid of fur, fires extinguished. It was beautiful for a moment, almost hopeful.

Until Clary realized what it meant. The humans covered in fur had been werewolves, the fanged ones vampires. Every single one of the horrible, feared mutated creatures on the painting had been a Downworlder.

Clary turned to Cleophas. The Iron Sister looked at her with a heaviness in her eyes. 

“The Sword can eradicate demons. But it would kill all Downworlders as well,” she said, horrified. 

The woman nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

<hr></hr>

Simon followed quietly as Maia tracked Luke through the woods. Wolves were better at scent tracking than vampires, he guessed. Or maybe the fact that he was a very recently turned vampire meant he didn’t have much skill in those things. Either way, he trusted her to lead them to Luke.

Maia was… not what he’d expected. He’d thought that she would be like Gretel, the other wolf he’d known. Though Maia had started their partnership with a very reluctant behavior, she’d somewhat relaxed while they were driving towards the camping grounds. She was funny in a sarcastic way and held a lot of wisdom.

He personally enjoyed having her around. Since he was planning to stay at the boathouse, it was a good idea to make friends with some of the wolves. Most of them didn’t seem to be very vampire-friendly. 

A loud growl resounded in between the trees. Maia shuddered next to Simon, her instinct saying that it was Luke, her alpha. Simon looked at her. 

“It’s him,” she whispered. “He’s turning into his wolf form.”

Simon followed her gaze and tried to focus. He could hear low growls and shuffles if he listened closely. And he could also hear…

“There are people. Humans,” he gasped.

Maia’s eyes widened. Simon understood. They’d both seen the state of the deer Luke had torn into. Neither of them wanted to deal with human bodies that looked the same. And they didn’t want Luke to hurt humans either.

They both started running towards the noises and the people. Simon was much faster, not holding back on his vampire speed. He hoped Maia wouldn’t mind if he didn’t wait for her. Keeping Luke from hunting innocent humans was more important. 

Luke was closing in on the campers’ bright yellow tent when Simon arrived at the campsite. The wolf growled at him, and Simon shuddered. It was hard to remember that this was Luke, the guy who had been there for him after his father had died. He was Clary’s father and also Simon’s, in a way, but in front of Simon was only a wolf, angry and hungry for the humans that Simon was protecting.

“Luke, don't do it,” Simon exclaimed, looking into the bright green eyes of the wolf. 

Maia came running in then. “Simon!”

The wolf growled at her, and Simon waved for her to move back. “Stay back. I got this.”

The wolf was terrifying, and he might die from this but… this was Luke. And he trusted Luke. He trusted the man with his life and the life of everyone else he knew. It was going to be okay. 

“Who's out there?” In the tent, the humans were starting to shift and get scared. 

Maia took control of that situation. She ordered them to stay in the tent and started talking to them, saying something about wildlife control or some lie that Simon couldn’t really understand.

He turned back to the wolf that growled at them and took a deep breath.

“Luke, it's me. Simon,” he called out, looking the wolf in the eyes. He was going to be okay. “The guy you taught to shave,” he tried, reminding him of the things they’d shared. Luke had been there for so many of the moments in Simon’s life where his father should have been there. “Go with the grain, right? Remember?”

The wolf shifted, the growling stopping. Simon took it as an encouraging sign.

“When we were kids, Clary and I, you brought us here,” Simon chuckled. “We roasted marshmallows,” the smell had been the best part, maybe. Because hot gooey marshmallow was not his favorite thing. “Clary got one stuck in her hair. Jocelyn had to cut it out. Clary cried, like, the whole way home because she thought she looked like a boy. But you told her that she was still beautiful, and that you would always love her.” As he talked, Simon walked closer to the wolf. And the beast wasn’t moving anymore, just watching him.

Clary had first wanted to cut only the locks that had marshmallow in them, leading to a very strange asymmetric cut. Luke had had to convince her to get the rest of her hair chopped off, because it was genuinely horrendous. She’d cried so hard. 

The wolf sighed heavily. And suddenly, Simon saw human eyes instead of wolf eyes.

<hr></hr>

The images she’d seen on the fresco kept replaying in Clary’s mind. And so were Cleophas’ words. As the two women walked back outside of the Adamant Citadel for Clary to get Izzy and to go back to the Institute, Clary questioned the Iron Sister’s words and the specifics of what she’d just told her.

“The Sword needs angelic energy?” Clary asked. Angelic energy was impossible to get. Right? 

“To activate the Sword, it must be wielded by an angelic being, and struck by a bolt of lightning,” Cleophas added.

Clary closed her eyes. Storms weren’t that rare an event. How many times a year were Downworlders in danger of total annihilation? How many times had Clary almost lost her family to the whims of genocidal maniacs? 

“Then it's capable of mass murder,” Clary whispered, her voice taking an angry tone that she couldn’t control. “Of killing my friends, my family…” Now, Valentine had the Sword, it wouldn’t take much for a tragedy to happen. Especially if he somehow managed to get his hands on an angelic being. “If Valentine does activate the Sword, how do we turn it off?” 

Cleophas looked down, shaking her head. “It is impossible.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Dread coiled in her throat, wrapped around her heart. Bright light that killed her family danced in her mind. A vision of the fresco, but this time, Luke and Simon were amongst the ones being murdered.

“So there has to be a way to stop Valentine before he activates it,” Clary whispered. “I can't lose Luke, too.”

She thought Cleophas would share her feelings of not wanting to lose Luke, but the woman barely blinked at that. There was no real… care for Luke, in Cleophas. She didn’t seem to want to know if he was alright, if he was safe, or happy. She didn’t seem to want to see him.

“You mustn't let the Downworld know what the Sword can do. Panic and chaos could ensue. Uprisings. We cannot let that happen.” Cleophas’ voice was cold, colder than before. Clary was taken aback.

Clary guessed Cleophas was right though. There would be riots, and that couldn’t happen. Crowd hysteria could be more damaging than events themselves. 

“Why did no one know about the Soul Sword’s second purpose? Was it hidden?” Clary asked, curious and a bit suspicious. The Clave seemed like the type of organization that would hide this sort of information from its members. 

Cleophas sighed. “We had accounts of Sister Abigail, the founding member of the Iron Sisters… Saying that the Soul Sword was the ultimate weapon against the Demon Kind, but we never thought it was more than a legend. The Soul Sword already had many powers… and I personally thought that someone would have used it before. Valentine is far from the first to want Downworlders to disappear from this plane.” 

Clary nodded. She felt ice running through her veins at the thought of so many Shadowhunters wanting her family dead. The idea of wanting to kill Luke or Simon, just because they were Downworlders, just because they had been turned into monsters against their will was terrifying. 

Clary was about to go rejoin Izzy, who was waiting next to the permanent portal, when she thought back about the demon in Iris Rouse’s basement. And the rune. If anyone would know about strange runes, it was an Iron Sister. From what Clary had been told, they were the closest to the Angels a mortal could be.

“Sister Cleophas,” Clary started, walking a little closer to her. She kept her voice low. This wasn’t information that she could entrust to just anyone, but Cleophas was Luke’s sister. “I need to ask you something. When my mother died, I was given a message. An image of a rune.”

Cleophas raised an eyebrow, curiosity playing in her eyes. “What kind of rune?”

Clary sighed. “I don't know. It's not in the Gray Book.”

“I need you to show me. Can you do that?”

Clary nodded. She took out her stele and let her hand trace the rune itself. She’d found that trying to think too much about it made the memory of the rune slip away. If she gave in to instinct though, it came back. 

Light erupted from her hand, hitting the ceiling of the archway they were standing in. Cleophas’ eyes widened with wonder and bewilderment, and she seemed completely taken by the sight of the angelic light, until it stopped shining.

Clary looked at her with a hopeful smile. “Do you think it's possible my mother sent it? As an angel?”

Cleophas had a little chuckle. “Jocelyn was kind and loving. And an angel to you, perhaps. But no, she's not an angel in the Shadow World. Angels aren’t dead souls,” Cleophas explained, keeping her voice as reassuring as she could. “Angels are beings, celestial beings. Tangible and different from mortals in every way.” 

Clary looked down. Her mom wasn’t an angel. She didn’t know enough about Nephili Afterlife to know if Heaven was something in Nephili culture. She could have asked Izzy probably, but she hadn’t thought about it, until now. She’d hung onto the idea that it could be her mom, so much that she’d dismissed the thought of looking for something else.

“So what about my mom? What happened to her?” Clary asked softly. 

Cleophas sighed softly. “That, my dear, has always been as much a mystery to Shadowhunters as it is to mundanes. Only the Angel Raziel holds the answers to where we go when our fight is over.” 

Clary shook her head. She shouldn’t have thought about it. She shouldn’t have hoped for clear answers, even if the Nephilim seemed to know more about the universe than any other group she’d ever met. 

<hr></hr>

The door of his loft closed behind them, and the noise startled the silence between Magnus and Alec. That silence had taken place as they finished their drinks and ate something, and walked home. Magnus could feel it like a wall of ice between them. Alec’s eyes had been blank, almost, for most of the way home. 

Magnus’ experience with relationships told him that the wall had very few chances of coming down. He wanted to fight for it, for Alec, but the reveal that he’d been… busy, romantically and sexually throughout his life had seemed to be too much for Alec. And if that was the case… was it worth fighting for? Was it worth getting hurt again and again, for something like this? 

Maybe he just needed to mourn this. He doubted Alec would choose him, now that they had started talking about the prickly topic of past relationships. 

“For a guy so used to portals,” Magnus said, trying to make this easier for the both of them. “I have to admit, nothing beats a late night stroll through the city.”

“Yeah,” Alec replied, almost noncommittal. “Gives you time to think.”

He slipped off his jacket, throwing it over one of the sofas, as well as his scarf. Magnus felt like he should just shut up and look away. Like he should ignore that, and let Alec leave and not come back. It was easier, less painful. And yet… he couldn’t help himself.

“You must have thought a lot,” Magnus remarked quietly. “You barely said a word the whole way home.” He walked over to the drink table and started pouring himself a bourbon. 

Alec sighed, a heavy, bone-deep sigh, that made Magnus hate himself for starting the “fight”, for starting what was going to irrevocably tear them apart. The damage was already done, he was hitting the last nail into the coffin. He would need a double bourbon. 

“Magnus…” Alec started. The ice was now in Magnus’ chest, wrapped around his heart, keeping it from beating the way it should. It was painful. He kept his back turned to Alec, for a moment, gathering the strength to face him. “Do you think maybe we're too-” 

“Different?” Magnus ended the sentence for him. He was afraid of this. He’d been afraid of this since the very beginning. That all of the risks would come crashing down when Alec realized what he was, when Alec started to question his relationship history. He wasn’t the first, he wouldn’t be the last, to see Magnus as… dirty. For his blood and his colourful history.

Alec sighed heavily. Magnus couldn’t see his face, and he tried not to imagine the look on it.

“Yeah.”

Magnus took a deep breath, schooled his features as best as he could and turned around. “We're from totally different worlds,” he muttered. If he went in the same way as Alec, it would hurt less. He couldn’t fight, struggle and beg, plead for a chance. He’d been through this dance before. It never ended well.

“Different centuries,” Alec added. So it was that too. The age. Magnus’ years of life, memories that came in between them. As usual. For a second, Etta’s face came in front of his eyes, her saddened but resolute voice as she told him she didn’t want to share life with him. And Imasu… Imasu who had thought him too fleeting for love. 

“Look, I... I should go,” Alec said as he started walking away, towards the door. Magnus couldn’t get himself to keep him. He couldn’t deal with that. So he watched him leave.

Alec’s steps were slow and heavy, like it pained him to walk away, like he was reconsidering every moment of it, every motion. Magnus didn’t understand why he would hesitate. He was right. Magnus was too old. Broken and used too many times to be worth the love of a young Shadowhunter. 

Magnus couldn’t take this. So he turned away. And he waited for the door to open and close behind Alec. Then, he would start breaking down, or getting drunk or… he didn’t know. Portal to Germany. Something, anything. The door wasn’t making any noise. Alec’s footsteps weren’t resounding either. Silence resounded, and Magnus didn’t know what to do but breathe.

Alec’s voice, sudden and strong, crashed through the wall of ice and the silence. Magnus was deeply startled.

“Look, I don't care how many people you've been with,” Alec said as he walked back to him, stood in front of him with something so raw and earnest in his eyes that Magnus was taken aback. He didn’t know what to say.

No one had been like this before. No one had chosen to stay, when confronted with his immortality, or his relationship history. And he didn’t know what to do, or say.

“I don't care how many people you haven't been with,” he managed, stumbling on his words, mind going too slow to come up with something better than this raw and simple truth. 

Alec stared at him, fully, nodding slightly, and Magnus found himself hoping. Hope was dangerous, but Alec stood there, back from walking away. Alec stood there, choosing him despite everything, the differences and the past, the things he’d been told about warlocks and the things he’d been told about Magnus. Alec was there. 

Alec shifted, hesitating, but almost suddenly, he was close. And he was kissing him. Magnus couldn’t feel anything but the kiss. He couldn’t think of anything. His hands slipped to hold Alec, grab at the open sides of his jacket, desperate in keeping him there, in securing him there.

Magnus closed his eyes and let himself be kissed, let himself kiss back. Alec was choosing him. 

They parted after what felt like both a lifetime and a second. Alec was looking at him, soft and steady, every hint of hesitation disappeared from his eyes. Magnus exhaled. He felt weak, like the only thing keeping him up was his grip on Alec’s jacket. He wanted to hold him closer but didn’t dare to.

“I hear that relationships, they, um take effort.”

Alec’s voice was a whisper. Magnus heard him loud as thunder.

“I'm all for effort,” he replied, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Alec nodded, amused, happy. Or so Magnus guessed. He didn’t have time to read his face for long, because Alec kissed him again. 

It was hungry, and breathless and Magnus’ hands slipped from the jacket to Alec’s waist. It made Magnus’ blood boil, it made him want more, so much more. Alec kissed him like he wanted to eat him alive, and Magnus would let him, any day. 

They paused for breath, and Alec slipped off his jacket. Magnus’ breath hitched. The man threw the garment over the couch, where Magnus’ jacket already was. Magnus stepped back towards him, unable to take the distance between their bodies. He needed his touch. He was starving for his touch. 

Alec’s fingers found the buttons of Magnus’ shirt and undid them, precise and fast in all of his motions. Shadowhunters and their runes. Magnus hoped it wouldn’t take all of the fumbly awkwardness of stumbling intimacy from them. 

Magnus’ shirt and Alec’s tshirt ended up on the floor of the bedroom, and they made it onto the bed, climbing close to each other, feverish kisses and soft noises. Alec’s mouth trailed away from Magnus’ and down his neck, kissing and nipping at the skin. Magnus gasped and moaned close to him.

“Alexander,” Magnus whispered, hands caressing up and down the strong chest of the other man. His fingers found runes that barely felt like skin and hair trailing down to the buckle of his belt. 

Alec made a strange, barely audible noise of questioning against his skin. 

“How far do you want to go?” Magnus asked softly, and Alec stopped for a moment. 

Alec seemed to think everything through, quietly. When he spoke again, it was softly, but confidently. “I’m not ready for more than this.”

Magnus smiled. “Thank you for telling me,” he replied. 

Alec seemed to hesitate for a moment but Magnus went back to him, asking for more of the hungry kisses and he relaxed, obliging. 

<hr></hr>

The Jade Wolf was filled with people, wolves celebrating the return of their Alpha. Simon couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. After all, Maia was the only one who had seemed to care enough to go looking for Luke. 

Despite having been quite… harsh at the beginning, Maia had mellowed out, and now she was halfway through what seemed to Simon like way too much chow mein. It reminded him of Clary and his bewilderment when they were children, seeing Luke wolf down enormous quantities of food. Simon hummed. That made sense, now that he thought about it. Wolves were strong and fast even in human form, so they needed loads of food. 

“I just can't believe how close I came to being Luke's dinner,” Simon chuckled, looking at Maia who was chewing another chopstick-full of noodles. 

Maia swallowed before replying. “A wolf that size, more like an hors d'oeuvre,” she pointed out, using her chopsticks as a way to demonstrate her point by directing them at him. 

Simon rolled his eyes at her, chuckling lightly. The food looked delicious, but he knew he would puke if he tried to eat it. He missed food so much.

“Man, I miss hors d'oeuvres,” Simon huffed. He remembered that one dinner party for Jocelyn’s 40th birthday, and the mountain of hors d’oeuvres that he and Clary had eaten, probably rivaling a wolf’s appetite.

“I miss chocolate,” Maia replied. “Ever since I Turned, it makes me puke.”

“That's awful,” Simon chuckled. It did sound horrible. Like a curse. Not being able to eat chocolate was fine for a vampire, because he couldn’t eat anything at all. But Maia could eat basically everything else, as far as Simon knew. 

Maia sighed softly, and Simon could tell she was getting more serious. “Simon what you did back there, with Luke, that was, like, seriously inspiring.” 

Simon rolled his eyes. Right. “I don't think I've ever inspired anyone before.”

Maia huffed. “I'm sure you have.” Simon noticed that slightly fond annoyed look she had right at that moment, when he was making a little self-deprecating comment. He also noticed something else. She was beautiful.

Simon barely noticed Clary coming in, up until he heard Luke saying her name loudly. Only then did he look away from Maia. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 17, How Are Thou Fallen Part 1!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	17. How Are Thou Fallen Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you're doing okay in these difficult times!  
> Today's chapter is part 1 of How Art Thou Fallen!
> 
> The chapter starts with some pretty intense and graphic nightmares (written partly by my amazing friend IndigoDream), so if you're not into that, you can skip the parts in italics!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

_ A demented kind of laughter resounded as the warlock approached her prey. Maureen stood paralyzed, wrapped in dark red ugly and violent magic. Clary stepped forward, putting herself between Maureen and the warlock. A warlock whose eyes were human, but whose tongue, the very tongue that licked her lips was forked. A warlock Clary knew well enough to call family. Dot.  _

_ Something violent and twisted laid in Dot’s eyes, but it was fixed on Maureen, not on Clary. It was as if Clary was not there. The magic was going right through her, from Dot’s hand to Maureen’s body.  _

_ Clary screamed but no sound came out of her mouth. Dot’s eyes flashed with the same red as her magic and she walked closer.  _

_ “Please, please, I’ll do anything!” Maureen begged.  _

_ Dot just laughed. Clary knew it wasn’t possible. She felt it. Dot wasn’t like that. Wait, no she was. She’d been like that for a while.  _

_ “I don’t want anything from you.”  _

_ Her face didn’t look human anymore. It changed shapes almost. Like a monster, like a demon. Eyes too dark and tongue like a serpent, words like venom resounding in a maddening echo throughout Clary’s head.  _

_ She tried to run, to push the warlock away but she failed. It was like she was walking through mud. Thick, too thick, keeping her from going forward. She wanted to stop her but she couldn’t. All her efforts were for nothing.  _

_ Maureen screamed again, begging for help, begging for the warlock to stop.  _

_ “Quick death or slow death?” Dot asked, like she was playing a game that only she enjoyed. She hummed.  _

_ Clary turned around trying to get to Maureen and rip the magic from around her body with her own two hands if she could. She didn’t have time. _

_ A sickening crack resounded as Maureen’s head snapped to the side. Clary saw it, and screamed like she’d never screamed before. Her head hung weirdly, neck crooked in a completely unnatural way. _

_ Clary closed her eyes. _

_ Clary opened her eyes. _ _ Luke had been right there with her. They had been walking somewhere - the forest where he used to take her and Simon camping maybe - and then he hadn’t been there anymore. She was alone, all alone now and she was screaming. She searched for him, running around and yelling his name.  _

_ “Luke! Luke!”  _

_ The begging was so loud in her voice, she could feel the way her whole body shivered and wanted to fall to the ground. She wanted to be in the dirt and leaves, wanted to disappear there. She had to find Luke though. She had to.  _

_ She found a clearing somehow. She didn’t recognize it. The trees twisted towards a dark sky, but she could see clear as day.  _

_ “Clary!”  _

_ On the other side of the clearing, Luke started running towards her. He was different though. He was afraid.  _

_ She tried to move, to go towards him, but her feet were ensnared by the leaves, dirt crawling over her shoes and ivy plants growing on her legs. She looked back at Luke, but he wasn’t there anymore.  _

_ Wolves, huge and menacing, had caught up with him. They weren’t normal wolves; their eyes shone with malice and magic, and she shouted, tried to distract them, but they were too engrossed in their prey.  _

_ Luke screamed as they started to eat him, and she felt the restraints on her legs fade slowly. She fell down harshly, her hands and knees caked in mud. She was struggling to get up when she heard Luke’s cry _

_ "Run Clary, run!”  _

_ She was still stuck to the ground when the first wolf bit into Luke. The cry he let out chilled her to her bones. Blood started to gush and run down Luke’s body, his left hand being gnawed on hungrily by the wolf.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Luke was still trying to crawl away, but one wolf’s paw grabbed him and Clary saw the large wound it formed on his back. It was ugly and blood immediately started tainting the wolves’ claws as they dug into the flesh. 

_ Luke screamed one last time before one of the wolves got to his head, biting it harshly. The sound its teeth made as they crushed Luke’s skull resonated loudly in the clearing. _

_ She ran.  _

_ Why was she in the Hotel DuMort? She had been… What had she been doing? She was here now, it didn’t matter anymore, everything was going to be fine…  _

_ It was someone, saying that in her ear, caressing her hair and neck, making her shiver and  _ **_want_ ** _ but she was stronger than this. She didn’t know the woman behind her, couldn’t tell who it was, but she needed to get away, as fast as she could.  _

_ “Clary, come on!”  _

_ Simon grabbed her arm, taking her away. They were running, again, but Clary was floating more than running. She was so… content suddenly.  _

_ “Wake up!”  _

_ Simon shook her and she snapped out of her blissed state. They were in danger. They were in the den of vampires, and they had to get out. She had to get him out, Simon couldn’t defend himself, she was the only one who could help him…  _

_ The lights above them were delicate and gave the rooms around them a blur that enchanted her. This was all so beautiful…  _

_ She was pushed away suddenly, two hands sending her flying against a wall. A sliding sound and crash. She turned around and yelled. She was trapped in a metal cage, the cage she had been in with Simon. When had that been? It didn’t matter.  _

_ Simon was writhing in Camille’s grip. Hadn’t they gotten rid of her? Clary frowned, but Camille was still there.  _

_ Simon said nothing, falling to the ground as Camille bit savagely into his neck. His blood was spilling out of her mouth as she drank ravenously, but she stopped after a while. Clary kept screaming.  _

_ “Come, my dears,” Camille said, blood bubbling on her lips and cascading down her dress. “Have your fill!”  _

_ Other vampires, ones Clary didn’t recognize, came in the room, and they all crouched down, like animals looking for their only source of food, and bit into Simon’s skin, draining his blood.  _

_ Clary yelled and yelled, until her throat was sore and she couldn’t continue to stay upright. Simon wasn’t there anymore to get her out.  _

_ She was in a bed, smiling languidly at the body underneath hers. Izzy smiled, something soft and special, just for Clary. They didn’t smile much lately. Clary kissed the other woman’s cheek and cradled her face in her hands, breathing in Izzy’s perfume. This was perfect.  _

_ There were crashes at the door and suddenly Izzy was standing, a seraph blade in her hands, and she was pushing Clary away from their bed. They had been waiting for this day to come, and now that it was here, Clary’s heart broke. This was their last moment together.  _

_ “Go! Don’t come back for me!”  _

_ Izzy was kneeling on the ground, her dark hair covering her face, but it didn’t hide the redness of her lips. It wasn’t lipstick though. Clary was sure of that. It was blood, a thick crust of it that cracked under the woman’s heavy sobs.  _

_ Clary was hiding. She was hiding and crying, muffling the sounds with her own arm over her mouth. She couldn’t be discovered. It had been the last thing Izzy had told her, as she had pushed her away when they had come for her.  _

_ The bodies of shadowhunters littered the ground of the forest around Izzy, encircling her morbidly. Their stench was nauseating; some bodies had been here for days. Izzy was the last one brought in, and she had been proud to the very end. But then, there had been the bodies on the ground, the empty eyes of the people she had known her whole life… Clary had watched Izzy yell and crumble to the ground, shaking lifeless body after lifeless body.  _

_ She was murmuring something underneath her breath and Clary guessed it was a prayer. Maybe she was asking the Angels to guard her soul after this. Maybe she was asking them to look over Clary, the way she had sworn she would do.  _

_ A Seelie, face darkened by rage, grabbed Izzy by the hair, and Clary muffled a shout. She couldn’t stand being so useless, but she had promised to stay alive for Izzy.  _

_ Izzy’s head whipped back loudly and she moaned with pain slightly. Tears have stained her cheeks and blood covered her chin. The Seelie holding her hair grinned. Meliorn looked so different, so… evil.  _

_ A blade shone in his hand, and Clary watched, mesmerized, as he brought it close to Izzy’s neck, caressing with the tip the soft skin of his former lover.  _

_ “This is the end of the Shadowhunters’ tyranny.” _

_ Clary closed her eyes as blood poured out of Izzy’s throat, coating her dress with its heavy liquid.  _

_ Something wasn’t right. There was something strange around Clary. She was standing on top of a building, and her mom was there, and everything should have been fine, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and Clary was terrified.  _

_ Hanging in the air above them, large dark wings spreading around him and blocking the light of the sun, Jace was staring them down. It wasn’t her Jace anymore. He was  _ **_their_ ** _ Jace now, one of  _ **_them_ ** _ , the monsters that had taken everything from Clary already. He wasn’t human anymore, just pure demon.  _

_ This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be on their side. He was supposed to help her, to protect them, not destroy them. But he hung in the sky like he belonged there now, like the large sword he had in his hands, jet black and heavy-looking, was his birthright. It was, she supposed as she took a step back. He had demon-blood.  _

_ “It’s going to be alright,” Jocelyn said, drawing Clary’s attention away from the Jace-shaped thing in the sky. “You’re going to be alright.”  _

_ “Mom,” Clary pleaded as they moved slowly towards the edge of the building. “Please, mom, please, don’t do this.”  _

_ Jocelyn smiled, bittersweet and tender. “I have to. I love you.”  _

_ In an instant, Clary was pushed away from the building. She was suspended in the air, her whole body trapped in the soft capture of the winds and clouds. She wasn’t herself anymore, she wasn’t there.  _

_ Jace dived down, his sword held in front of him. Jocelyn didn’t move, even when Clary tried to shout to her to get away. If only she would move, if only she would fight…  _

_ The sword went through Jocelyn’s heart and a pained cry escaped her lips.  _

_ Clary walked through a cemetery. Well, she wasn’t certain it was a cemetery. It could have been a park. The smell was overwhelming and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand. _

_ It was as if the ground had been levelled without care for what could be laying underneath. There were bodies everywhere, skeletons, some picked clean by time and some still bearing some flesh and muscle tissue. Rotting flesh. All the bodies seemed human. No fangs, nothing else.  _

_ She was alone there, walking towards something. Someone? Either way, she didn’t know. She was just walking, and she felt watched. Like someone was behind her, following in her footsteps.  _

_ She knew instinctively that being out at night was not safe. A voice told her that they were going to attack her and she was going to end up the same as those bodies, rotting in the open. But she had to come out tonight.  _

_ Clary reached a part of the cemetery that was a bit different, more orderly. There were gravestones there, not on all graves, but on at least half. There were also some graves with flowers and commemorative signs. She walked further in, and stopped at a set of several gravestones.  _

_ She reached over, fingertips grazing the letters carved into stone.  _ Maureen. Luke. Simon. Izzy. Mom.  _ Her family, murdered. She was the one to put up the stones, to shed tears over the graves. The only one left to remember.  _

_ She knew she was the only one left… Even if Jace didn’t have a grave. Jace was worse than dead. Jace was one of them, insane from demon blood and power and the taste of other people’s blood. She was alone in this world.  _

_ Tears streamed down her cheeks. _

_ Eyes burnt against the back of her head. She was still being watched. Her tears dried at that moment. She took her stele, scuffed and worn and wrapped in duct tape to prevent breakage, and slid it over her Hearing rune.  _

_ Wolves were quiet on grassy grounds but she heard their heaviness and the growls that they barely contained clearly. She swallowed. There were at least three of them.  _

_ She slid her stele over her Heightened Speed rune and her Sure-Footed rune. She needed all she could get. She’d seen shadowhunters torn apart by wolves more than once. She steadied herself, took a deep breath and straightened up. _

_ They growled and gathered behind her. Clary closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to her family. May the Angel guard her. May the Angel give her a merciful death, if she was to die today. She couldn’t wait to see her family again. _

_ She opened her eyes and pushed herself forward. She heard them start behind her, slower on the departure than her due to their four legs. One of them howled, the call of the hunt. The hunt for Nephilim blood. _

_ Clary ran for her life. Her entire body hurt, burned as she ran as fast as she could. It felt like forever. Her breath caught in her throat.  _

_ She hit the ground, hard, pain resounding through her entire body.  _

_ Her mouth filled with burning sand. She coughed, loudly, trying to keep herself from drowning. She felt like she was on fire.  _

_ Clary gathered her hands underneath herself and pushed herself up. The wolves weren’t there anymore. She wasn’t on the burial ground anymore either. She was in a burning desert, with a sky orange with smoke.  _

_ She got up painfully, her knees protesting, still ringing from the shock of falling. Inhaling didn’t provide relief from the burning in her lungs and on her skin. The air was like poison. She was suffocating. _

_ Still she started walking forward. In the distance, she could see what looked like a high tower. She blinked away the sand in her eyes. _

_ Suddenly she was at the foot of what looked like a cathedral on fire. Giant dragon-like birds, almost like dinosaurs, flew around the decapitated great tower.  _

_ That was when she heard it. The scream. _

_ “Help me! Someone please help me!”  _

_ It pierced through her heart and she started running. The tower was half destroyed and Clary could see a figure in a window, a boy with dark red hair. The prince. _

_ Clary picked up her skirts as much as she could and ran closer. The chainmail over the cleavage of her dress was heavy over her chest, but protected her from a well-directed arrow.  _

_ The prince screamed again, calling for her. She tried to reply, to tell him that she was on her way to free him, but when she opened her mouth, sand flew into it.  _

_ She blinked again. This time she was halfway up on the façade of the tower. Her dress was heavy but her feet found the holes in the wall easily enough. She hoisted herself higher. The prince was looking down at her, and the higher she got, the more she could see of his despair. _

_ “Please! Help me!”  _

_ Her sword was heavy but it would pierce the Evil Queen’s heart and open the door to Earth, and she could not let go of it to get to the prince faster. Every centimeter was hard-fought. The wind wrapped in her skirts and tried to rip her from the tower but she held. _

_ Finally she was under the window. Her body shook with exhaustion. The sword felt like a mass trying to drag her back down. She smiled at the prince. She was going to help him. She was going to kill the Evil Queen and they would escape, together. _

_ The prince reached out, hand outstretched, so she could take it. He was so hopeful and young, hair cut shorter than she expected and a large burn on the left side of his face.  _

_ She let go of the façade, reaching up with her right hand to grab the prince’s hand. She felt her other hand slip. Sweat and sand made her grip on the stone falter. Her right fingers barely touched the prince’s before she started falling. _

_ The dress and the sword dragged her through the sky.  _

_ “CLARY!” The prince screamed. “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” _

_ She tried to fly but she couldn’t. She didn't have a stele and she didn’t have wings. The winds burnt her skin as she fell, her body horizontal in the sky. The fall lasted forever, and the prince got smaller and smaller the further she fell. The burning sky got darker and the tower disappeared behind clouds of black. _

_ The night took over and  _ Clary woke up with a glass-shattering scream.

<hr></hr>

Isabelle had been summoned to the Head of Institute’s office once again. She knew what Aldertree was going to ask of her. She knew that she was going to have to tell him about Clary, the way he wanted to, if she wanted yin fen.

What had happened at the Adamant Citadel, as the water boiled around her and she could feel angelic energy forcibly tearing her soul apart, as if her soul wasn’t angelic, had kept her from using yin fen again. It was the morning after they’d come back to the Institute, but she could already feel the cravings.

She hated the hold he had over her. She hated that, for a moment, she’d trusted him. She’d managed to let down her guard, long enough for him to get her to trust and hope, and then he’d forced her to give Jace in. And now he was trying the same with Clary.

Isabelle knocked at the door before letting herself in, not waiting for Aldertree’s authorisation. 

The man was sitting at his desk, as usual, with his sleeves still down. It was too early for him to roll his sleeves yet. Isabelle wanted to ask a lot of questions, yell at him for what he’d done to her, but she knew he didn’t hold all of the blame.

“Isabelle. Thank you for coming,” Aldertree said in his usual cheerful manner, as he put the tablet he was holding down on the desk. “I was just going through your mission report for the Iron Sisters’ outing. Unfortunately, it’s mostly useless, since you say you were not allowed inside of the Adamant Citadel. Care to explain why?”

That was somewhat surprising, Izzy thought. 

“There was a purity trial,” Izzy explained. “I was tainted by demonic impurities, because of the yin fen. That is not something I can easily write down in an official mission report. The simple use of the word yin fen would get me a suspension and an investigation. Writing that I’ve been using would get me sent directly to the Sanatorium.”

She couldn’t help but let her words slip into an annoyed tone. Aldertree knew all of those things, he knew what she risked if someone found out she was using yin fen. For example, if Clary started talking about it. 

Aldertree nodded. “I’ll have Miss Morgenstern write a mission report as well then. We’re June 13th, the mission was on June 12th, so it should already be on my desk but… She’s still in training.” 

Izzy sighed. “Anything else, sir?” She asked, holding her hands behind her back. Her wrist was shaking, but she didn’t want to ask for more. She didn’t want to do anything like that, give Aldertree more ammunition to force her hand.

“I asked you for something in exchange for yin fen, didn’t I?” Aldertree asked, leaning back against his chair.

Izzy took a deep breath. She thought back to the rune Clary had used. And to the way she’d been able to put objects into drawings and take objects back out, like the Mortal Cup. Clary had abilities that Izzy knew didn’t exist in Shadowhunters. Aldertree couldn’t know. Izzy could really only tell him one thing.

“Clary doesn't have demon blood,” Izzy sighed. “She passed the purity trial with flying colors.”

Aldertree sighed heavily, as if he was unhappy that Clary didn’t have demon blood. Maybe he was searching for something to pin her with, to get her arrested, or at least out of the Institute, just like he’d so obviously tried to do with Jace. Speaking of Jace, Izzy hadn’t seen him since Clary and she had left for the Adamant Citadel.

“If there's anything you neglected to tell me, anything about Clary Morgenstern, I need to know,” Aldertree said, demanding that she tell him the rest. She wouldn’t. As far as Aldertree knew, she didn’t know anything else. It would stay that way.

“I've told you everything I know,” Isabelle replied. “May I go?”

Aldertree sighed heavily and waved her off. She walked out of the room with a heavy sigh. Finally. She hated this situation. But she was happy that he hadn’t succeeded in getting more from her than she wanted to tell. 

<hr></hr>

Clary slipped out of the Institute. She wasn’t supposed to be out, she was supposed to be doing that stupid report that Aldertree had asked of her. It seemed that Izzy’s hadn’t been enough, which made sense, since Izzy hadn’t been allowed inside of the Adamant Citadel and hadn’t been the one to actually complete the mission. 

Clary would deal with the report later. She needed to go and see Simon and Luke. She had seen them the day before, but the nightmare that had woken her up this morning had triggered a deep desire to know they were okay. 

She still shivered at the images, their bodies, their deaths at the hands of rabid Downworlders. It had been like the vision Dot had given her on Valentine’s ship, but worse. Because it was her family, and they were all dying. 

The Angel had planned for that uprising, that horrible time where Downworlders and demons alike would rise and terrorize everyone, it seemed. If the Angel had planned for it, could it be a possibility? Clary had thought the vision was nothing but an illusion, nothing but something made of magic, without even a hint of reality. But what if it wasn’t? Knowing the Soul Sword’s purpose was to save the world from that very scenario couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? 

Clary shook her head. No, it was impossible. She knew Downworlders. They weren’t the monsters she dreamt about. 

“Clary?” 

Jace’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as she walked down the stairs in front of the Institute. Jace came out from around the corner of the building. He looked exhausted. Clary frowned. Had he spent the night outside? Why was he hiding?

“Hey. You okay?” Clary asked, walking to him. 

He nodded quickly, and started walking out of the glamour of the Institute and into the street. He walked fast, as if he was worried about something, and it made Clary suspicious. They were a couple of streets away when he finally stopped.

His eyes were wide, with dark circles and an uncomfortable look on his face. 

“Sorry,” Jace muttered. 

Clary sighed. “What’s happening?” 

“Aldertree kicked me out.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her.they started walking again, towards the subway station. Clary had many questions, but Jace seemed to want to take his time with this. 

“When I was in the City of Bones, Aldertree used the Soul Sword to interrogate me. And I wasn’t able to pledge total allegiance to the Clave, not anymore.” 

Clary knew that if she was asked the same question, she would have the same answer. She didn’t trust the Clave, not fully. Everyone around her seemed to assume that she did though. It was something that didn’t seem like a question for Shadowhunters. Of course she pledged allegiance to the Clave. Who else could she follow? Valentine? 

“If I didn’t leave the Institute, he was going to release the video of me saying that. My reputation would be ruined. And I can’t have that,” Jace muttered. He seemed so heavy, shoulders slouching down as they walked down the stairs and into the subway station. 

“Where are you staying?” Clary asked softly. 

“Nowhere. I spent the night in the park around the Institute. I’m trying to find something, but I have no money, and nowhere to go. My account was seized by the Clave when I was revealed as a Morgenstern, and all of my income from Shadowhunter work since then was taken when I was arrested for High Treason. It’s still suspended.” 

Fuck. Clary went through the places she knew. Her childhood home had gone up in flames when she’d discovered the Shadow World… That was almost three months ago now. She swallowed as she realized how fast time was passing. Three months… 

Luke’s place had a couch, but Clary didn’t want to bring Jace to him. Luke needed more alone time, to deal with his grief. He’d only just come back from his grief-driven trip to the woods, and Jace could be a bit of a lot, sometimes. 

All of Clary’s friends thought she was dead, and Elaine Lewis was very nice, but she didn’t want her to start asking Jace questions about Simon and have Jace fuck up. 

The only person that remained was Simon. He was now living in the boathouse next to the Jade Wolf and Clary guessed it could host someone else… She didn’t feel great bringing Jace to Simon, but he didn’t have much going on, no big mission or plot to undo, or drama. Just Simon in the boathouse. That could work. 

“Come on,” Clary smiled softly, as the subway car stopped in front of them. “I think I know where to bring you.”

<hr></hr>

Simon stared at himself in the mirror. He’d managed to smuggle it, as well as some more furniture, with the help from Alaric and Luke. It was mostly old worn-out things that some of the wolves of the Pack wanted to throw out, but it made for good enough cheap or free furniture for Simon.

The shirt he had on right now, the third one he was trying on, was wrinkly. He didn’t know why he was stressing out about this right now, especially when the actual hanging out, or date, was scheduled for more than a week later.

He couldn’t help it though. He was always like this when it came to dating, to people that he liked and was attracted to. He got nervous and rambly and wanted everything to be perfect, as if having a wrinkly shirt would make everything fall apart. 

He tried to reassure himself, saying that a wrinkle was far from the biggest worry when it came to a possible relationship between Maia and him. He rolled his eyes at himself.  _ Possible relationship _ . They’d met a day before, they were not there yet.

That was how he knew he had a crush. He was already thinking of it as a relationship, and getting overwhelmed by a button-down. 

The door of the boathouse slid open in a loud screeching sound. Simon sighed. He needed to deal with that. He needed to deal with so many things. There was the thing with Maia and Simon was still waiting for Raphael to text him, so they could deal with Kenneth Nelson. 

“Hey, Simon, you here?” Clary’s voice resounded in the boathouse. 

There was another set of footsteps with hers, another heart beat. She was there with someone, which was unexpected. Simon didn’t have that many acquaintances who knew where he now lived. And he expected Clary would know better than to bring one of her colleagues to his place. The more he learned about Shadowhunters, the less he wanted to be in contact with them.

“Hey,” Simon called out as Clary appeared from behind the row of canoes. The second person that was with her didn’t step forward yet, and Simon decided he was glad for it. 

Clary looked at him from head to toe, from his ‘nice’ jeans to the navy dress shirt with little round patterns. “You look-”

“Overdressed,” Simon completed for her. “I knew it.”

Clary chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “Let me finish, you dumbass. You look great.”

Simon sighed in relief. He was so glad for Clary. It wasn’t the first time she helped him calm down from a pretty-person-inspired nervous spiral. “Really? It's not too wrinkled? I mean I don't really own an iron, so-”

“I know that rambling. You’re going on a date,” Clary cut him off, crossing her arms. She was wearing what seemed to be her uniform now. Skinny jeans, simple top, this time in black, and a leather jacket. It was practical, he guessed. A bit different from what she used to wear when she was only a student. Simon didn’t know if he liked it but… she was happy. That was what mattered, right?

“Yeah. I’m going through all my shirts, like a madman,” Simon chuckled, moving closer to his friend.

“Who is the lucky human?”

The phrasing that they had used since Simon had come out as pan didn’t work anymore. There were now five more species that they interacted with more or less regularly in their world. And neither of them was human anymore. 

“Not a human actually,” Simon pointed out. “It’s Maia.”

Clary raised an eyebrow. “Maia?”

Simon would have thought she remembered Maia, after the issue with Jace being accused of Gretel’s murder and then Maia and him being the only two that cared enough to go and find Luke in the middle of the woods. But she didn’t. She probably had much better to do.

“She’s in Luke’s Pack,” Simon explained. “She’s the one that went after Jace.” 

Clary’s mouth formed a silent ‘o’ as she nodded. She shifted, suddenly much more awkward. Simon closed his eyes for a moment. She had on her face the look she got when she had done something she shouldn’t have, something he had told her not to do. Like inviting the guy Simon had a crush on to a Rock-Solid Panda concert, despite him insisting she didn’t. 

“What is it?” Simon asked.

“I… I have a really big favor to ask you.” 

Simon was going to ask what the favor was, what made her take that almost sheepish look of ‘please don’t be mad at me’, when the second person that had walked in with Clary came out from behind the row of canoes. 

Simon sighed heavily as Jace Wayland himself waved at him. Well, he was Jace Fray now, wasn’t he? Or was it Jace Morgenstern? Simon could barely keep Clary’s different names in mind, he wasn’t going to start with Jace’s as well. He had bigger things to deal with.

“I got kicked out by Aldertree,” Jace said.

Simon stared at Clary. If Jace had been kicked out and she was here with him, asking a big favor of Simon, it could only mean that she was hoping that Simon would take Jace in. He crossed his arms, shaking his head.

“No,” Simon replied simply. His voice was firm and loud. 

Clary sighed heavily, moving closer to him. “Please, Simon,” she said softly, in a begging voice. “I’ll owe you one, I promise I’ll pay you back.” She grabbed his forearm, almost physically trying to get him to uncross his arms, to agree. “There’s nowhere else he can go right now, and I don’t want to know my brother’s on the street.” 

_ Brother _ . It was so strange to see how quickly Clary had taken to having a brother. It had been maybe a month and a half, and Simon still really couldn’t see the family resemblance, but the way Clary said  _ brother  _ with such intensity and love showed that she’d accepted it entirely. 

“I love you, Clary,” Simon started. “But I do have… a life. Responsibilities and things to do, with the rest of the clan. And having Jace around, a Shadowhunter, Valentine’s son who recently murdered a den full of vampires…” 

Clary sighed. “It wasn’t his fault.” 

“I seem to remember the den leader surrendering to him. He had a choice, Clary.” Simon hissed lowly, sending a look to Jace.

He had to admit that he wasn’t a fan of the guy to start with, but he couldn’t even start trusting him with staying at his home, when he knew he would have to deal with Kenneth Nelson at some point in the next few days. He didn’t trust him with vampire business. Raphael and he had agreed not to bring in the Shadowhunters, and Simon wasn’t going to cross over this line.

Clary sighed heavily, as if she was tired of that argument, as if she didn’t care for it. Simon raised an eyebrow. He was really waiting to see what Clary was going to say next. 

“Maybe he had, maybe he didn’t. We were both there, and we saw different things,” Clary replied. “Please. It’s not for a long time. Just the time we figure out where he can stay. There’s no one else.” 

Simon wasn’t very happy with the way that Clary just walked over the accusation, claiming a ‘he said, she said’ situation. He looked at Jace, who was shutting up, which was rare and unexpected. 

He was Clary’s brother, and he’d been kicked out, and was going to have to stay on the streets if Simon didn’t take him in. He was also an infamous soldier of the Clave, that had killed or hurt more than one Shadow person, under the guise of the Law. Simon couldn’t condone that. 

“Clary-”

“He’s not the same as he was around Valentine,” Clary interrupted him. “It’s been over a month. He isn’t under Valentine’s power anymore. And he repented for what happened to Gretel.”

Simon sighed heavily. “How can I know that for sure? I work closely with the Clan, Clary, and I live right next to the Jade Wolf. How can I know that he’s not going to hurt my people?” 

“He’s not a bad man,” Clary whispered, looking at him. “Please. He’s family. Whatever he has done, he changed.”

Simon was suddenly aware, much more than he usually was, of the difference between Clary and him. It had been there for a while, maybe ever since she’d chosen to have him become a vampire, while she was a Shadowhunter. Clary didn’t understand what it was like to be on Simon’s side. 

“He’s with the Clave,” Simon shook his head.

“Ask him why he was kicked out,” Clary replied, letting go of him. 

Simon almost rolled his eyes but kept himself from being too obvious with it. He turned to Jace.

“Why were you kicked out?” He asked, in a rather monochord and annoyed tone.

Jace swallowed, arms crossed. He hesitated for a moment, sending Clary a look. Clary nodded at him, urging him on. 

“Couldn’t pledge total allegiance to the Clave,” Jace mumbled. If Simon didn’t have vampire hearing, he wouldn’t have gathered what he was saying. “If I stayed at the Institute, Aldertree would make sure everyone knew I’m a traitor to the Clave. They would have shunned me, maybe even managed to throw me back in the City of Bones.” His eyes got wide and a bit scared at those words. “I can’t go back there.” 

Simon looked down for a moment. Alright. So maybe Jace had changed, a little. That didn’t mean he trusted the guy to be around him, and his business with Raphael. 

“Listen,” Jace sighed heavily. “I’ll make myself scarce. I’ll be there only at night to sleep, the rest of the time, while you sleep, I’ll be off. You will barely see me, I won’t bother you. I just need somewhere to stay for a while.” 

Simon had forgotten that Jace didn’t sleep during the day. That would indeed change things. Simon could be able to go about his business during the night, while Jace was asleep. He didn’t have to learn about Kenneth Nelson. 

“Fine,” Simon gave in eventually. “You’ll take the red canoe, not the bed. And this is temporary. I want him gone as soon as possible.” 

As Clary dissolved into thank yous and apologies, Simon couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t just made an enormous mistake. Yes, Jace had changed, and refusing to pledge allegiance to an authoritarian government was definitely a good guy move in Simon’s books but did it undo everything else? He guessed it didn’t. Simon sighed deeply. Hopefully, this decision to be magnanimous and merciful would not come back to bite him in the ass.

<hr></hr>

Alec and Magnus stepped through the portal. Alec barely registered that they were back at the loft, he was so engrossed in his rambling, his thoughts coming out of his mouth with little to no filter. He never let himself just talk like that. This was new. 

Tokyo had been wonderful. Sushi prepared by the master of the small restaurant they’d been to was nothing like the one made once a month by the cooks of the Institute’s cafeteria. Alec hadn’t really expected it to be the same, but the sheer difference between the two was astounding. It was as if the two versions weren’t of the same dish. 

“I mean, how would they feel?” He exclaimed, feet finding the plush carpet of the loft’s living room rather than the pavement of the street they’d been in just before. It had been a small street, a couple of turns away from the shops they’d visited before leaving. Alec was still a little tipsy off of expensive wines and sakes that they’d tasted alongside the sushi. 

He felt dizzy almost, which was something he often felt when he was out with Magnus. Magnus had that pull, magnetic and enchanting, that made Alec’s head turn. Or maybe it was the portals that they took from place to place that made him feel like that. 

“Well, I'm glad you didn't ask in front of the sushi chef,” Magnus teased, amused. 

They put down the bags filled with antiquities and various other things they’d gotten next to the sofas. 

“Seriously, why do they call it fatty tuna?” Alec asked, looking over at Magnus who was just happening to be bending over. “I mean, that's a little degrading.”

“Hmm, well I don't think obese tuna sounds any better.”

Magnus was so incredibly attractive. That was added to the list of things that made Alec’s head turn. Magnus was incredibly attractive, and he was his boyfriend. Which was… a bit of a surprise. 

Not because Alec didn’t think he was handsome, no. He knew he was attractive. Women had been attracted to him before, had tried to flirt their way into his bed, or into an alliance with the Lightwood family name. He himself found himself pretty handsome. 

It was just… Magnus was unexpected in so many ways. Incredibly hot, and sweet and funny and different from anyone Alec could have imagined dating. With the alcohol in his veins and a slightly different outlook on his own life, he could think of the lives he could have had had he gone for the Shadowhunter men he had a crush on. 

Those lives were so incredibly far from a full sushi dinner in one of the best restaurants of Tokyo. 

Alec sighed happily. “You know, as much as I love Tokyo and Prague, a bacon burger from the East Village isn't that bad. New York… feels so good.” He muttered as he looked around the loft for a second.

“The world is your oyster, Alexander.”

His eyes caught on the one thing that he’d gotten, when Magnus was busy, elbow deep in a bag of things that he was going through. Shopping with Magnus - especially antiquities - was absolutely fascinating, and yet Alec had managed to tear himself away from watching him rapturously and get him this.

He grabbed the little black bag, so delicate and sweet, with words written in silver in Japanese, and a black bow keeping it closed, and held it out towards Magnus.

“Got you something,” Alec said, looking at Magnus. 

Magnus stopped completely, eyes wide and…. Confused? Magnus looked up at him, and for a second Alec wondered if he’d heard what he’d said. He looked so surprised and confused and… Was this a bad idea? Was it too early in their relationship for gifts? 

“Me?” Magnus asked, voice small and full of that uncertainty that was written all over his face. 

Alec smiled a little, looked at him still. He was staring, he knew that, but he got to, because Magnus was his boyfriend, and they were in private, and Magnus was staring at the little black bag like it was going to explode.

“Yes, you,” Alec nodded, and pushed his hand a little farther, a little more towards him to coax him into taking it. He did so. “Open it.”

He looked away then. Maybe Magnus wanted privacy, or maybe Alec was just afraid of what he was going to say, really, so he just turned his back and fumbled with the bags for a while. 

He didn’t know what warlock courtship was like. He’d tried to find out, but he had very quickly noticed that the Nephili databases and books on warlocks didn’t include very much information about their culture, outside of warnings and ways to kill or maim them. Which was… an incredible oversight, and a clear issue. 

So Alec had no idea if warlocks gifted each other things at this point in the relationship, or if there were steps that needed to be taken, like the blade Nephilim gave to their girlfriends in promise of engagement. All he knew really, was that Magnus liked beautiful things, and that the most beautiful thing to Alec was Magnus’ smile. And he wanted to see it.

He turned around when the little black bag hit the floor in a loud thud. 

Magnus was standing with the omamori in his hands, looking at it with his big, beautiful eyes. 

“It's supposed to bring you luck and protection,” Alec explained, grinning at him, like an idiot. He couldn’t help himself. He was tipsy and happy and he wanted more wine and to cuddle with his boyfriend, and also definitely make out.

“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus said. His voice was soft and full of unspoken emotion. Alec sighed. This man was so wonderful. Magnus stepped closer, into Alec’s space. “You continue to surprise me.”

“In good ways, I hope,” Alec replied. They were close now, so close that he couldn’t help but stare at Magnus’ lips. 

Magnus barely had time to reply before Alec gave in, and kissed him. It wasn’t a hard and passionate kiss, because Alec didn’t want to give him one of those just yet. It was simple and happy and made butterflies flutter in his belly. 

<hr></hr>

Clary’s phone dinged as she walked onto the bridge that traversed the side of the ops room. Despite the hunt for Valentine, the Institute had seemed to settle in a sort of routine. Izzy and Alec didn’t seem surprised by the fact people weren’t running around panicked, so Clary guessed it was how Shadowhunters acted in times of crisis. They put together new habits, new routines, and kept going. 

Jace had moved out around ten days before, and though it had first been hard to listen to the whispers that were going on between the other Shadowhunters, those had died down without Clary losing her cool and yelling at them to stop talking about what they didn’t understand.

She was on somewhat thin ice herself, being Valentine’s daughter and the sister to someone with demon blood. They watched her closely, especially Aldertree. She knew that, even if he hadn’t told her, he was after her. He had to be.

Clary was about to reply to one of Simon’s humorous updates on how Jace was doing, when it happened. 

The noise resounded throughout the air, distantly, at first. It was as if she could feel the distortion the cry was making through the air before she heard it. It was loud and piercing, and when it finally hit her, it paralyzed her.

She reached up to her head, shaking it slightly as she tried to understand what was happening to her and make it stop. Behind the piercing and shrill ringing, there was what seemed to be a voice. Deeper, more real. It was desperate.

Her heart stopped as the cry resounded throughout her body. She stopped breathing and blinking and she felt like her bones were going to shatter. Pressure built under her skull, pounding to get out of the bone prison, and she knew that she was dying. 

It left suddenly, and so did the pain and the knowledge that she was dying. She blinked and the rest of the people seemed not to have felt and heard the desperate and lethal call she’d just received. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She inhaled sharply. Her lungs worked. For some reason, she had doubted they would.

She looked around herself for any indication that someone else had heard it but everyone just seemed to be going at their work normally. That wasn’t normal. She couldn’t be hearing things. She was afraid it was just adding things to the list of stuff that was abnormal about her. 

“Hey, did you hear that?” She asked, grabbing Lindsay’s arm as the woman walked past her without much care.

Lindsay frowned. “Hear what?” 

She was a soldier from one of the administrative teams so they were barely acquaintances. Lindsay wasn’t exactly fond of Team 1, the one that Alec led and that was responsible for bringing Clary in. And she wasn’t fond of Jace either, especially after it had been revealed he had demon blood.

“That sound just now,” Clary replied. She couldn’t exactly describe it, and it was obvious that Lindsay thought she was insane.

“What sound? I didn't hear anything.”

Clary sighed deeply. “Never mind.”

Lindsay sent her a look that clearly said ‘she’s completely nuts’ before walking down the stairs to the ops room. Clary watched her as she stopped by one of the computer stations and started chatting with some other administratives and one of the field soldiers. The latter turned to look at her as Lindsay talked about Clary’s strange behavior. He was blond, and when Lindsay touched his arm, his face briefly contorted in an uncomfortable expression and he moved back so her hand would fall away.

Clary swallowed. She mostly had enemies in this place. She tried to focus back onto her phone and Simon’s message. 

<hr></hr>

The June weather allowed for warm evenings, and Magnus admitted that making out, drinking red wine and chatting with his boyfriend on the balcony during that kind of evening was in his top ten ways to spend his time right now. 

They sat on the outdoor sofa, music playing in the loft, allowing a comfortable soundtrack to their… activities. Magnus wouldn’t say it out loud, but Alec was right. There was nothing like home, when it came to this. 

Alec had stopped kissing Magnus’ lips a few moments ago and had trailed down to the crook of his neck, kissing and nipping there. Magnus let his head fall back, eyes closing lightly as Alec shifted lightly, tongue slipping into a notch of his collarbone. 

Alec was incredibly meticulous when it came to physical intimacy, and it drove Magnus insane. They weren’t ready for full on sex yet, but if Alec applied the same rigor there that he did to kissing and making out, Magnus had a lot to look forward to. 

Magnus’ right hand played with Alec’s hair, following the motions of his head as he licked every inch of his neck. It was perfect. 

He let go of the wine glass he still held in his left hand, barely looking to see if his magic was putting it safely on the table. His fingers were way too busy sliding under Alec’s shirt and exploring the expanse of skin there, the hair that curled onto his chest, trailing to his crotch, the way Alec’s breath hitched when Magnus traced his runes, or his nipples. He was so sensitive and beautiful. 

Magnus was well on his way to teasing Alec’s nipples when a ringing noise cut through the atmospheric music. Magnus sighed deeply as Alec straightened up, leaving Magnus’ throat to search for his phone. 

They disentangled themselves, Magnus leaning back against the sofa as Alec found the offending piece of technology and read the message that had interrupted their make out session. 

“Damn it,” Alec cursed and Magnus rolled his eyes. Shadowhunters and their emergencies. Always coming in between him and his boyfriend. “I need to go.”

Magnus sighed a little, but smiled at Alec. He looked genuinely unhappy to have to go to the Institute and be away from the loft for a while.

“Go do your job, Shadowhunter,” Magnus smiled softly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Alec sighed heavily, but his following grin was bright. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ lips for several seconds more than he should, seconds that made Magnus’ resolve to let him go lessen, but he eventually moved back.

Alec grabbed his coat and stood up. “I’ll be back ASAP,” he promised. “Bye, Magnus.” 

Magnus watched him walk away, reaching to take his wine glass back. That man was so incredibly attractive, he thought, watching Alec’s tall and muscular frame disappear behind the door of the loft. 

He sighed, leaning back, relaxing and accepting that he was just going to have to wait for him to come back. 

<hr></hr>

Izzy had received the alert text as well, but she’d been in the Institute then. She’d been training, punching the yin fen craving away as much as she could. She didn’t have any left, and her wrists were starting to shake so much that someone had noticed earlier today.

The last couple of days, she’d felt like she was inside of a pressure cooker. Aldertree’s unforgiving and unrelenting eyes on her and his questions about Clary, Jace and even Alec now that his relationship with Magnus had become an interest to Aldertree, felt like the claws of a predator that were closing in on her. 

Between that and the storm clouds that gathered around the city, demons crawling from their nests as the weather got more chaotic, she knew the next few days were going to be hard to deal with. 

They were also one man down, Jace having taken a strangely timed sabbatical. All Izzy knew was that he was living with Simon, Clary’s best friend, in a boathouse around the Jade Wolf. It seemed like a bizarre choice of residence to Izzy, but what did she know? 

She looked down at the table she was waiting next to. She was at the Team 1 prep station, and since her teammates didn’t seem to be coming, she decided she would start going through the specifics of the high level alert they’d just gotten by herself for now. 

She opened the memo and started reading it. She stopped halfway through to steady herself and her wrist. She needed the yin fen. She couldn’t go much longer without it. 

_ Reported Adamant Citadel break-in following info gathering mission by Team 1. Remembrance service for Sister Magdalena will be held in the ceremony room at 4pm.  _

A break-in, in the Adamant Citadel. Sister Magdalena was dead. Izzy remembered the woman’s cold and unwavering gaze, as she warned her about her soul’s demonic impurities. She had appeared exactly as the pictures in the books Izzy used to read, a fierce Iron Sister. Izzy couldn’t believe she was dead. 

She couldn’t help but be surprised Clary and she hadn’t been interrogated yet. The memo implied that there hadn’t been any other mission to the Adamant Citadel than theirs before the break-in. Surely Aldertree already suspected Clary. 

Izzy didn’t have much time to keep thinking about it. Clary and Alec walked into the room, Clary struggling to follow the fast pace Alec was leading with his longer legs. Alec looked a little tired, but he was still dressed nicely. He’d been on a date with Magnus before this.

“What’s going on?” He asked, something impatient in his eyes. 

Izzy smiled a little. He wanted to go back to Magnus’ loft. She understood. She sent Clary a look. The young woman had dark circles under her eyes and clearly needed a nap. Maybe one day, Izzy would get to have a day off, sit on her bed with Clary until the world outside stopped being full of demons, at least for an afternoon. 

Suddenly, her vision blurred, Clary’s red hair becoming a mass of color that made it difficult to distinguish the individual strands, even as close to her as Izzy was. She blinked rapidly. Her entire body felt cold, and hot at the same time, goosebumps erupting from her head to her toes, skin tightening strangely. A drop of sweat slid down her back. She was incredibly grateful for her black top.

“You alright, Iz?” Alec asked, reaching to her. 

She turned her back to him, immediately, looking at the blue neon of the holotable. She shut her end of the parabatai bond tightly. He couldn’t feel this. He couldn’t know what she felt.

“Fine. I feel a little weak,” she replied. Her voice was a bit tight, but it seemed alright. “I probably pushed myself too hard in training this morning. I’ll get apple juice from the cafeteria when we’re done with the briefing.” 

She opened the memo and the map of the current demonic energy hotspots of the city, and forced herself to focus on work. Apple juice’s sweet taste would soon cover her taste buds and make her feel okay again.

“The Citadel was breached,” Izzy started. “Sister Magdalena is dead. According to the rest of the memo, Cleophas is missing. There are no other casualties, but there are some Iron Sister tools missing as well.” 

Clary gasped, moving next to her so she could look at her more closely. “Do we have any information on what happened to Cleophas?” She asked, obviously frazzled. 

Cleophas was Luke Garroway’s sister, Izzy remembered. Clary  _ would  _ be worried about her, especially after Luke’s recent grief rampage. If he lost his sister too, he could start attacking mundanes, and then, Shadowhunters would have to intervene.

“Was it Valentine?” Clary enquired. 

Alec was quiet. Izzy could feel he was watching her. She shivered again. She was so cold. And hot.

“Who else could it be?” Izzy sighed. “Aldertree left for Idris to meet with the Council. He has not specified who would be taking over the Head of Institute duties, but I’m guessing it’s the Head of Security.”

Alec nodded. “If it’s not him, it will be the Team 1 leader, and that’s me. I'll go check if there is any more info, I need to know if I’m going to have to deal with paperwork for the next few days.” 

He sent Izzy a questioning look and she shook her head. He was worried about her. She didn’t want him to be. He only deserved to be with Magnus, not worrying about anything. He sighed a little at her lack of response and walked away, taking his phone out. Probably texting Magnus not to wait for him. 

Izzy turned to Clary, who was staring at the holotable with a thoughtful look. 

“There isn’t much we can do, right now,” Izzy said softly. “We don’t know exactly what happened, only that she’s missing.” 

“I need to talk to Luke,” Clary whispered, looking up at Izzy. “I need to keep him updated on all of this. I know the Clave won’t let him know. They didn’t let him know about Mom… He’s dead to them.”

“People who are exiled, whether through Turning or through deruning are not considered Shadowhunters in any way anymore. Depending on the reason why… they’re taken out of family trees,” Izzy explained.

She’d vaguely heard about her mother’s brother, Maxwell. She knew that he had been exiled and that Max was named after him, but she didn’t know exactly what had happened. She only knew that they never talked about him. 

Clary had her eyes closed, her face frozen in a hard and angry mask. “I’ll go. You have work to do here,” she said, voice tight and small. “I’ll keep Jace in the loop too.” 

Izzy nodded. It was for the better. She didn’t want Clary around her when she went through the entire Institute to get her hands on yin fen. 

She watched as Clary walked away from the prep station. She sighed. Additional shivers were running down her spine despite her best efforts to completely still her body. She looked around. No one was staring, no one was realizing what was happening to her. That was for the better.

She started walking down towards the Head of Institute office. Few people were in this area of the Institute, since Aldertree had gone to Alicante, along with his assistant and some additional personnel. Izzy had a small window to search through his office for yin fen, before either Alec or the Head of Security took over his office and his paperwork.

She snuck into the office, which wasn’t very hard, since the door was opened. She remembered where Aldertree kept the yin fen, from the several times she’d seen him take out the small silver tins for her.

They were kept in an ornate box in wooden marquetry, on top of a dresser across from the doorway. Izzy made a beeline for it. She hated that she was falling that far down, resorting to stealing, but she couldn’t stay under Aldertree’s grip. She was going to get yin fen, and she was going to keep taking it until the war was over and they stopped Valentine. 

Then, she would have the time to get off of it and not be a burden to her team and her family. She couldn’t do this while they were all running around searching for the Sword and trying to stop Valentine’s nefarious plot.

Here it was. The small silver tin of yin fen that she knew would be in there. Izzy sighed out. Finally. She was going to be able to stop the horrible thing that she felt, the horrible feeling of slowness and fever that kept her from thinking straight. She would be able to go back to work.

She grabbed the tin, pushed back the box without care, and opened it. 

She felt her heart stop beating for a moment. It was empty. Empty, and completely clean of the silver ointment that she was searching for. There were no hints, no residues stuck in the corners of the box. She knew, deep down, that someone had cleaned it before putting it back in the wooden box. 

Aldertree had known she was going to try and take it. That was the only answer Izzy had. 

Fuck. What the hell was she going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 18, How Are Thou Fallen Part 2!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	18. How Are Thou Fallen Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you're doing okay in these difficult times!  
> Today's chapter is part 2 of How Art Thou Fallen!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Alec walked back into the Institute from a quick assignment in Grand Central. The Head of Security, who was way too overzealous and eager to push Alec out of the race for the Head of Institute position, was assigning him to small and inconsequential hunts. 

He felt strangely hot and bothered, and he’d noticed that his hands had been shaking a little when on his hunt. He’d missed a couple of shots, and arrows had flown away from the demons they were supposed to kill. It was strange. This only ever happened when he was too emotional to think, and he’d been rather clear-headed lately… 

Alec had been feeling a little strange for a while. He usually put the flashes of lightheadedness and butterflies to the proximity of Magnus, but it had been happening more and more frequently. They came and went, usually associated with bursts of Izzy’s feelings.

Right now, her panic and sense of lack of control was almost overwhelming. She didn’t have her usual iron grip on what feelings she let him - or herself - feel, and Alec could tell something was wrong. Very wrong. 

She’d been a bit moody and very secretive lately, taking longer to get ready for hunts. She’d made decisions that didn’t make sense to him, like giving Jace in to the Clave. She trained a lot, almost too much. It worried him. 

It had gotten worse and worse until today, where her lack of focus had cost him some arrows in the field. And it had only been arrows, but it could have been much worse. 

Izzy was standing next to the prep station, going over some pictures and plans of various buildings, as well as pictures of various people. Downworlders, it seemed. Alec frowned.

“Hey, everything’s okay?” He asked as he walked up.

Izzy basically jumped out of her skin then, whipping around to face him and nodding in an almost too chipper way. “Everything’s great!”

Alec raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t acting normally. She twisted her body strangely, hiding her right hand behind her back, her hair was matted with sweat, even if it was rather cool in the building and she wore a sleeveless, short halter dress. There were heavy dark circles around her eyes and Alec was immediately even more worried.

“Where have you been?” Izzy asked, keeping her voice too cheerful and carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Had to slaughter a horde of Shax demons in Grand Central. Could've used your help,” Alec replied, looking at the buildings and people he could see on the prep table. He recognized pictures of the New York Shadow Market, pictures of various vampire dens and a few known Seelie drugs dealers. “What are you doing?”

Izzy had a shrug that was obviously fake, too big and distinctive to be natural. “Aldertree has me on a special assignment. I'm checking out some known yin fen suppliers.”

Yin fen? Alec frowned. It would make some sense that Aldertree had them go through yin fen suppliers, since it was a highly illegal product, and the man had been a field medic. But something was wrong about this. 

First, it had been obvious the last few days that Aldertree didn’t trust Izzy. If he had trusted her before, it was all gone now, and Izzy herself hated the man. There was no way he had her, of all people, on a special assignment that required a high level of trust. 

Second, Izzy had been acting strangely for a while, and Alec knew the symptoms of a yin fen addiction, at least on paper. He’d learned them as well in the Academy, despite not taking the same course as Izzy. 

“I think we need to talk,” Alec whispered. “I can feel that you’re lying.”

Izzy froze, looking everywhere but at him. Alec could feel the shame, guilt and panic rising in his sister. He could feel it through their parabatai bond, and could read it on her face. 

He looked around the room. There were too many people here. 

Alec reached up and gently touched Izzy’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” 

Izzy sighed a little but didn’t fight him, and they walked towards her bedroom. The door closed quietly behind them and Izzy exhaled, crossing her arms in an attempt to shield herself. 

Alec swallowed. He didn’t really know how to deal with this, but he knew he had to say something. He had to help her. She was his parabatai, his sister, and she needed help. No matter what she’d done and what she’d said.

“What’s going on?” 

Izzy took a deep breath. 

“It’s yin fen,” Izzy whispered, voice too quiet. “I’ve been using it for… over a month.” 

Fuck. That was… worrisome. And dangerous. Especially if someone learned about it. Alec was somewhat aware of what happened to yin fen addicts that the Clave knew about. Weakness of any kind was not tolerated.

And outside of the legal issues that could come about, yin fen was dangerous for its users most of all. Especially if Izzy had been using it for that long. 

Alec crossed the distance between them, and pulled Izzy into his arms, without a word. There was nothing to be said. Nothing to be done but supporting her. He couldn’t believe that he had not realized it was happening. 

Izzy was addicted to yin fen. Out of everything that could happen to her, to the both of them, this… he hadn’t imagined that it could happen to her. Where had she even gotten yin fen? He swallowed, his mind already starting to work on solutions.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into her hair, hugging her as tightly as he physically could. “You’re going to be okay.” 

Izzy wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him back. He wondered how long she had been wanting to tell him. How long she’d been hoping he would figure it out. 

“Aldertree…” Izzy started, quiet and muffled against his chest. 

Aldertree? What the fuck had he done? Alec could feel a rush of anger burn through him. If she was bringing him up right now, it had to be his fault. Aldertree had been acting strange around Izzy for weeks, always asking her into his office and keeping a too-close eye on her.

“You don’t have to explain,” Alec whispered. “But you can, if you want to.” 

Izzy’s breath hitched. He felt her inhale deeply afterwards, trying to force herself to relax. She stayed silent for a moment, before she took a step back, breaking their embrace.

She still didn’t look him in the eyes. Alec unlocked his side of the bond, pushing his feelings of love towards her as much as he could.

“When we were in Camille Belcourt’s library… Valentine stabbed me in the shoulder. The blade had demon venom or something and I… the pain…”

Alec swallowed. He should have known. He should have known her blocking him out of her feelings entirely and for much longer than before was wrong. He’d just thought his mess of feelings towards Magnus, and the issues he’d faced with people like Blackstair was too much for her. 

“Aldertree offered yin fen to me. He told me it would help me to heal faster, so I took it. I thought I would be able to resist it, that I would be stronger than the…. People we saw at the Sanatorium,” Izzy was trying as hard as possible to keep her voice steady but Alec could hear the tremors of pain and shame.

“We need to get you help,” Alec replied.

“No!” Izzy exclaimed, shaking her head. “Not right now. I’m okay. I’m managing it. I’ll stop and take care of it when we’ve caught Valentine.”

That was a bad idea. Alec didn’t know much about addiction, he mostly knew the Clave protocols put in place to deal with a subordinate with an addiction, but he could only imagine that waiting only made things worse. 

“Waiting will only make it worse.” 

Izzy shook her head again, crossing her arms. “I need to be at my best, to end this. I need to be there to help you. Right now, yin fen is what I need to be there for you.”

She didn’t want to be a burden to them. She didn’t want to compromise their mission as they tried to stop Valentine. She saw herself as an obstacle to that. Alec wanted to punch Aldertree for pushing her into this situation.

Alec shook his head. “You’re at your best when you’re healthy, Izzy. I can feel that you’re not okay, you know I can.” 

Tears gathered in Izzy’s eyes, and she hugged herself tightly. “I should have been stronger. I shouldn’t have given in. I’m sorry.” 

“You have  _ nothing _ to be sorry for,” Alec replied, voice firm and clear. “ _ Nothing _ . Aldertree was the one to offer you the yin fen, and he knew its effect on people.” 

“And I was the one who made the decision to take it,” Izzy whispered. “I was stupid and I put everyone in danger.” 

Alec pulled her close again. He didn’t exactly know what to say but he knew he couldn’t leave his sister, his  _ parabatai _ , like this. He’d failed her, ignoring her pain for so long as she used yin fen to keep herself at the only level she deemed appropriate. He should have been there to tell her it was okay to be hurt sometimes.

“It’s over now,” Alec whispered. “It’s over now, we’re gonna help you get better. I swear on the Angel’s name, Izzy, you’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna make this right.” 

She hiccuped against his chest but didn’t push him away or refuse the help. Good. They could only help her if she let them.

<hr></hr>

Jace didn’t exactly love that he had to share a living space with Simon. Not only was he a vampire, having blood bags in the fridge next to Jace’s produce wasn’t the most appetizing, and sanitary-looking thing, but he had a completely different life. And he was incredibly nerdy.

Jace wasn’t that well-versed in mundane culture. He knew the basics, because he had to at least pass as mundane when he was going on un-glamoured missions, but that was it. And that was definitely enough for him. 

So living for the last ten days with someone who used pop culture references regularly and looked at him with wide, confused and bewildered eyes when he said he didn’t get them was challenging. Especially because Simon liked rewatching those movies when he was awake, when Jace was trying to sleep.

That, and the fact that canoes weren’t very comfortable, no matter the number of blankets and pillows he packed into the wooden boat. And there was no way in hell Jace shared a bed with a total stranger. He enjoyed night cuddles with family and friends but Simon Lewis was neither.

Nonetheless, he was still incredibly glad that Simon had taken him in. He didn’t know where he would have been had the man not agreed to share his home with him, and for that, he was grateful. 

Jace had showered at the Jade Wolf, not managing to avoid the glares from the wolves that ate and spent time there, before going to ‘bed’. He was laying in the canoe, a red one that was resting almost on the floor, hidden behind a couple of rows of canoes. He liked that somehow more secluded corner, even if it smelled a little humid for his taste. 

He was closing his eyes and finally falling asleep when the door banged open. He groaned, sitting up in the canoe and ready to tell Simon to get his company somewhere else, but, through the rows of canoes, he saw the person that had just come in. 

He couldn’t see him fully but he recognized him as Raphael Santiago, the leader of the New York vampire clan, and Simon’s hierarchical superior. What was he doing here? Since Simon was living here and not in the DuMort, Jace had thought he and Raphael weren’t on good terms. And yet...

“It reeks of Nephilim and wolf here,” Santiago remarked, voice full of disgust. “How do you manage to live in this place?”

Simon shrugged. “Just got used to it, I guess.” Jace heard him sigh. “Is there anything new about Nelson?” He asked. “I don’t like knowing he could go after my mom any time if he wants to.”

Nelson? Jace tried to think about whether he’d heard that name before or not, but came up with nothing. What were Simon and the vampires involved with? Why did Jace and the Clave know nothing about it?

“I found out where he was hiding.  _ Le Peuple Oublié, _ ” Santiago replied. “We’re going there, right now.” 

Simon took a step back. “We? Do you mean…”

“You and I. We’re both responsible for this mess and we’re both going to deal with it.” 

“I don’t have your fighting skills, man,” Simon replied, nervousness clear in how tight his voice was. “I don’t exactly want to die at the guy’s hands.” 

“Two vampires, no matter the fighting skills, are better than one. Especially since he’ll have some of his people with him. And we’re going into a Seelie club, two days after the Summer Solstice.” 

Jace blinked. This was bad. There was nothing else to say. Seelies were notoriously rowdy around the Summer Solstice, both ready for fights and for sex, and sometimes both at the same times. Their magic was also much stronger than usual. Experienced Nephilim needed specific gear to deal with Seelie gatherings during those times, and many didn’t make it back after trying to dissolve one of the combats-to-the-death-and-orgies. There was no way Simon and Santiago were going to make it.

“That sounds dangerous. Is that dangerous?” Simon asked. 

“Very,” Santiago sighed, frustrated by Simon’s behavior. “But we have to take care of our families, so we don’t really have a choice now, do we? Let’s go.” 

Jace watched as the two vampires walked out of the boathouse. He didn’t like this. And he didn’t want Clary’s best friend to die any time soon. Clary had been through far too much already. A few minutes after Simon and Santiago had left, he followed them, his stele and seraph blade hidden and ready. 

_ Le Peuple Oublié  _ was known by the Institute and was on Jace’s phone maps. 

<hr></hr>

The entrance to the nightclub didn’t look like much. There was a small staircase that led to the basement area of a very normal-looking brownstone house. All in all, it could be the entrance to a separate studio apartment the owners of the house were leasing, or something else entirely mundane. 

Raphael sighed deeply and looked over at Simon. “We’re going in, and you’re staying with me. Not a word.” 

Simon didn’t think of pointing out he was a strong and independent vampire, that he could take care of himself. He hadn’t really been around Seelies much, but he’d heard what they were like. And they seemed very… manipulative. He didn’t want to accidentally sell his soul to someone. Was that even a thing? He’d text Magnus and ask, when he walked out of this place.

They walked down the stairs, unaware they were being watched by a Shadowhunter. 

Next to the strong, heavy-duty door that waited for them at the bottom of the staircase was a neon sign, that buzzed lightly as electricity coursed through it. Words were written in French in bright green light. Simon knew it said ‘ _ Le Peuple Oublié’  _ only because Raphael had said those words several times when talking about the nightclub.

The door was unlocked. Raphael opened it and stepped through it. Simon didn’t have a lot of experience in nightclubs, despite Clary’s desire to go through as many of them without getting caught as possible. Yet he expected there to be a bouncer. There wasn’t. 

“You know I’m still 18, right?” Simon mumbled to Raphael, pushing his hands in his pockets, as they walked down a tight and slightly oppressive corridor, deeper into the basement than Simon expected. 

“As I said, this is a Seelie club,” Raphael replied. “The last thing they care about is your age.” 

Simon was about to reply when his foot caught on a vine and he started falling forward. He somehow managed to get back up, right as they were stepping out of the tight corridor, and into the main room of the nightclub. 

It was dark with people. Bodies pressed together everywhere Simon looked. There were battered silver couches, that you could see when the sea of beings parted. They were in various states of dress and undress, a lot of them wearing flowing, earth-toned and jewel-toned clothing, floral patterns over the fabrics, just like the plants that seemed tattooed on some of the people’s faces. Raphael led them through the crowd, avoiding the big fire pits that were lit regularly throughout the room. 

That had to be a fire code violation. And a health and safety one as well, since there wasn’t anywhere for the smoke to go. 

“Don’t breathe in too much,” Raphael warned. “The smoke is a drug. It has a much smaller effect on us vampires, but if we breathe it too much, we can still feel it.” 

“Exactly  _ why  _ did you want me to come with you?” Simon asked, rolling his eyes. This was definitely not his scene. It would never be, and he was very glad for that. He was a “stay home and watch Star Trek from start to finish” sort of guy, and there was nothing wrong with that. 

Raphael didn’t reply. Simon sighed and looked around at the rest of the club. The vine that had almost sent him to the ground was one of many and they grew over every surface that wasn’t occupied by a person, it seemed. 

He followed one specific vine up from the floor to the wall on his right. He blinked. The wall under the foliage was moving. And it wasn’t made of stone. It seemed made out of pieces of metal, fit together around a mechanism that made them move, almost wave-like, and made them take the shapes of faces. 

There were faces with warlock marks, wolf heads and pointy ears, and mundane faces too. Old, young, of all genders and races. Simon tried to focus on the faces he saw but couldn’t. Until one specific one. 

Dark eyes and a strong nose and the lips he had inherited. The man looked like Simon and Rebecca and like neither of them, really. The man was a blurry memory for Simon, someone he mostly recognized from pictures he had seen of them. It had been years since his passing, and though he was Simon’s dad, Simon’s memory was failing him. 

And yet, he looked at the face in the wall, and recognized him. Binyamin Lewis. His dad. 

“Raphael?” Simon asked and he felt a hand grab at his sleeve. 

“Don’t look at the faces. Keep walking,” Raphael hissed. 

Simon somehow managed to stop staring at his father’s face, that seemed so real, like he was going to walk out of the wall and hug him, and looked over at Raphael. 

Raphael was looking down at the legs of the people in the crowd he was walking through, forcefully. He was forcing himself to look away. Simon wondered whose face he saw in the wall. 

They made it to the other side of the main room, and stopped in front of a small door. This time, there was a guard at the door, who looked at the both of them with barely disguised animosity. 

“We’re here to see Kenneth Nelson.” 

“He’s waiting for you, Santiago,” the guard said, and opened the door. 

Simon and Raphael walked through it, and it closed behind them. Simon felt like they were making a big mistake. Maybe they should have involved the Shadowhunters… He didn’t want to die here.

Jace walked into the main room of the club right before the door closed behind Raphael and Simon. He didn’t know what they were doing here, at  _ Le Peuple Oublié.  _ It wasn’t exactly a recommendable establishment. 

A few Seelies stared at him as he walked through the crowd. Yeah. Shadowhunters weren’t beloved by the crowds of this kind of place. He ordered a beer at the bar and paid a ridiculous amount of money for it. 

Now, he had to find someone to talk to. He needed to blend in. His eyes scanned the crowd for a woman, someone he could flirt with to keep people from thinking he was there for any sort of Nephili business.

He found one, a tall, beautiful Seelie woman. She looked in her twenties, but Jace knew better than to let that fool him. She could be literally any other age. Her hair was brown with strands of green, and her vines grew over her neck and slightly around her forehead, framing her face. 

“It’s rare we see Nephilim here,” the woman said, before he even had time to say hi. She looked at him with sharp, but amused, eyes. 

Jace hummed. “I am looking for something I can’t find elsewhere,” he replied, taking a sip. “Jace.”

“Jace… Interesting.” the Seelie smirked. “I’m Kaelie.” 

They clinked their glasses together and both took a sip. Jace watched the door Simon and Raphael had gone through carefully. 

<hr></hr>

Clary had found Luke not far from the Jade Wolf, as he was speaking with some members of his pack. They’d looked at her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, and she had to admit that it hurt. She knew these people’s faces. She had seen them when she was younger, several times. Luke had not wanted her to hang out with his friends very much, but they had crossed paths. And now she was their enemy. 

It was hard to see people she loved look at her that way. She’d seen some hint of the same sentiment from Simon when she’d come to ask if he could take in Jace, and she didn’t like it. Simon had nothing to worry about, she would never hurt him. She couldn’t believe he had a doubt about that. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt, how betrayed she felt.

Luke walked away from his pack members and hugged her quickly as a welcome. He could probably tell she was stressed out. He was her dad, after all. He could read her perfectly. 

“The Adamant Citadel was broken into,” Clary started, without much preamble. “Sister Magdalena is dead, and Cleophas is missing.”

Luke frowned slightly. “So you met Cleophas?” 

If he could read Clary perfectly, she sure couldn’t read him. He seemed surprised that she’d met his sister, and he didn’t seem to be panicking at the idea that she was missing. 

“Yes. We had a mission at the Citadel, and she was there. Valentine’s the suspect, and I wanted to make sure you knew she was missing. Since I don’t think the Clave will warn you.” 

Luke pursed his lips and looked down. Clary swallowed. She didn’t really know what to say to comfort him. He wasn’t… he didn’t seem incredibly upset. If Clary learned that Simon or Jace were in mortal danger, she would probably be screaming. Luke was just looking away, face hardened in an unreadable mask. 

“I… I’m so worried. And you are still hurting from Mom, I don’t want you to be worse… If Valentine has hurt her or worse...” Clary rambled, looking at him. She was starting to get more and more agitated. 

Luke stopped walking, turning to look at her. “Clary, listen to me,” he sighed, a mix of sadness and frustration in his voice. “Cleo may not be the victim here. She could be working with Valentine.”

Clary frowned. That was impossible. Cleophas had been so solemn and so… Iron-Sister-like. Clary couldn’t imagine that she would be working with Valentine, working to kill her fellow Sisters and break into the Adamant Citadel. Especially not after the way she’d explained the Sword’s secondary purpose to Clary… She’d seemed quite horrified. Right?

“Uh, no, she's so dedicated to the Iron Sisters,” Clary replied. 

Luke sighed deeply. “When the Circle disbanded, she had to be.” He sounded so tired. 

“She was a member of the Circle? I didn't realize-” 

Of course she hadn’t realized, Clary thought. Circle runes could be hidden, just like her mother’s had been, for most of her childhood. And Circle members looked like everybody else. They weren’t all crazed maniacs who tried to murder every single demon-blooded creature they crossed paths with. 

“She was one of Valentine’s blind followers, just like the Lightwoods, or your mother. Or even me. Valentine was good at inspiring people to follow him. When I finally figured out what Valentine was up to, it was already too late.”

Clary noticed he didn’t mention Cleophas’ reaction to him Turning. Maybe a sore spot. 

She swallowed. She imagined Simon and Jace turning against her, pushing her away. Simon was already doing that somewhat, wasn’t he? He was pushing her and Jace away, all but saying that he didn’t trust them. A pang of betrayal resounded in Clary’s chest at the thought and she looked down. 

She couldn’t have this happen. She couldn’t let this happen. It had been eighteen years since the Circle had fallen, there had to be something they could do. Eighteen years was long enough for someone to change their mind.

“We have to get her back, Luke,” Clary said firmly, putting her hand on his arm. “She probably changed a lot since the last time you saw her. She had time to change.”

Luke watched Clary with a sigh. She could tell he wasn’t convinced, but he had to be. She couldn’t let this stay the way it was. She couldn’t let this bad blood keep running.

“I don't know,” Luke said softly. “It’s too late.”

Clary shook her head vehemently. “No. We've already lost so much,” Clary exclaimed, looking at him. “Family is all we have. She's your sister, Luke. Don't you wanna at least try?”

Luke looked at her like she was a child who didn’t know what she was saying. Clary knew she wasn’t wrong though. They’d lost so much, Luke especially. He’d lost his parabatai, the love of his life, Simon to the vampires. If there was any way he could have his sister back, Clary wanted to help him.

Especially if his days were numbered because of Valentine’s plans for the Soul Sword. 

<hr></hr>

Kenneth Nelson stood in a corner of a room. Next to him, laying half naked and unconscious - or so Simon hoped - on a table was a young mundane woman, barely older than Simon was. Even if she was naturally light-skinned, she was paler than she should have been, lifeless, and obviously drained of all blood. Simon swallowed.

Kenneth Nelson himself was tall, blonde-haired and somewhat fascist-looking. Simon hadn’t expected him to look like that. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected much, but this man looked like a cheap bootleg version of Alexander Skarsg å rd in True Blood. Maybe Camille had had a crush on Eric Northman and had Turned Kenneth to have a version to herself.

“Raphael Santiago,” Nelson said, turning a cold grin to the two of them. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Vampire-tv-show guy using the classic villain introduction? How original. 

“You knew I was coming,” Raphael replied. “Curious.”

“I’m far from the only vampire that doesn’t want anything to do with your leadership, Santiago,” the man said, walking towards them.

Raphael had told him that Nelson wasn’t old. At least not as old as Camille had been. He wasn’t as old as Magnus either, probably Turned somewhere in the 19th century, or early 20th. Either way, he was slightly older than Raphael himself. And if Simon understood things correctly, that was bad. 

“I’ve come to offer a truce. You don’t go after our families, and we won’t go after yours.” 

Nelson huffed. “This is war, Santiago. The people on my side do not want a traitor to lead them. You gave Camille to the Clave, and that’s unforgivable.”

As if Camille had cared for any of those who were now fighting in her name. Simon hadn’t known her much, but from what he’d seen, and what he’d heard from Raphael and Magnus, Camille didn’t care about anyone but herself. 

“Would you have let the Clave kill all of your followers for Camille?” Raphael asked. 

Nelson hummed, playing with a lock of the hair of the unconscious woman. It made Simon sick to his stomach. The girl’s hair was strawberry blonde and shiny. She’d been healthy. 

“Yes,” he eventually said. “I would have. I have true loyalty.” 

Raphael stared at the man. Simon swallowed. True loyalty? No, the guy was just insane. He truly believed in Camille enough to kill his own people for her, the people who trusted him. 

“We’re tired of the Clave’s tyranny over us.” 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “And you think we aren’t?”

Nelson pursed his lips. “I  _ know  _ that you gave them Camille without hesitating. I  _ know  _ that you work with them, that your entire reason for overthrowing her was that she didn’t follow their rules.” 

“I wish we weren’t under their boot, but I still don’t believe in murdering innocents for the fun of it,” Raphael replied, gesturing towards the broken body. “That’s all Camille ever wanted. She wanted freedom to slaughter whoever she wanted without consequence. That’s just… wrong.” 

“You’d rather we say nothing and just follow their orders like…  _ dogs? _ ” Nelson asked, crossing his arms.

“I’d rather we stop murdering each other in the name of freedom and actually do something. Actually show the Clave that we’re more than the blood-thirsty scavenger animals they think we are.” 

Nelson barked a humorless laugh. “We  _ are  _ blood-thirsty, Santiago. That is our nature.”

“But we are not monsters.” 

Nelson looked down at the body of the girl on the table. With a swift motion, he shoved her off of the surface and turned back to them. Two vampires in the room walked out then. Simon frowned. 

“What are you here to offer, Santiago? Because I won’t give you a truce if you don’t give me something in exchange.” 

Raphael took a deep breath. “We’re offering to take you back into the clan’s protection. I would take you as my second-in-command.” 

Simon didn’t like that offer. He didn’t like the idea that it would give all of this power to Nelson, and be protected by the rest of the clan. He didn’t want to have to share the DuMort with them, even if he didn’t live there. 

But he understood why Raphael was doing it. The clan couldn’t afford a civil war now, especially if the Clave got involved. They would kill everyone, Nelson’s clan or not. And Simon wasn’t planning on dying any time soon. 

Nelson sighed heavily. He looked deep in thought, in a way that was obviously fake. Simon’s heart would have skipped a beat if it was still beating. He had no intention to accept the terms. It made sense, and Simon hadn’t really expected that it would be this easy to convince the man to stand down but… he had hoped. Just a tiny bit. Enough to be disappointed.

As he was about to reply, the two vampires walked back into the room, accompanied by an inebriated blonde woman. The woman’s eyes landed on the body that laid unmoving on the ground next to the table she was being led to and she let out a piercing scream. She immediately tried to get away, survival instinct not entirely dampened by alcohol and the smoke drug from the fires. 

The vampires were far too strong and dragged her without great difficulty to the table. 

Nelson chuckled. “Just in time,” he hummed before turning back to the two of them. “Before I refuse and you get mad and we start fighting, would you like a taste?” He asked, gesturing towards the young woman that was now sobbing and pleading in a foreign language. 

“No, thank you,” Raphael replied. 

“Your loss,” Nelson smirked. “Like all of the women I eat, she’s… perfect. Fair and…” he looked at both him and Raphael, giving them a look of light disgust. “Untainted.” 

Great. He was also a racist asshole. 

<hr></hr>

Night had fallen a long time ago, and Clary knew that she wasn’t going to go back to the Institute for a while. She was tired, maybe, but she couldn’t stop looking for Cleophas. Luke’s reluctance to give her the benefit of the doubt was… surprising. Clary thought he would give her a second chance. After all, it was what Luke did. He was kind and open-hearted, and yet…. He wouldn’t give a second chance to his own sister.

Luke walked back from when he’d been on the phone, and looked at her. “I've used all the department's resources,” he sighed. “There's no sign of her.”

Clary shook her head. She didn’t want to believe that Cleophas was back with Valentine. There was no way. She hadn’t seemed like a Circle member at all. 

Just as she was opening her mouth to reply something, to beg him to keep looking for Cleophas,someone opened the door of the Jade Wolf heavily. 

They leaned against the doorway, in the dark, and for a moment, Clary wasn’t able to see who it was. The person took a step forward, and she recognized her immediately. Dark hair and a face that looked a lot like Luke, it was Cleophas. She held her hand to her stomach, and blood dripped on the floor.

“Luke!” Clary exclaimed, and started running towards her. She caught her as Cleophas stumbled to the ground, panting and groaning in pain.

Luke walked to them, too calm. 

Cleophas looked up, searching her brother’s face.

“Lucian,” she gasped, her voice low and pained. “Help me.”

Luke took a step back, looking down at his sister. The last time he’d seen her, was right after he’d Turned, maybe around twenty years ago. Her face that was today deformed by pain had been filled with hatred. The two emotions didn’t look that different on her. 

Clary stared up at him, almost offended that he wasn’t rushing to help Cleophas. She was too young, she didn’t understand what it felt like to see his sister again, after everything she’d done. After the pain she’d caused him. He crossed his arms.

Clary took out her stele and activated Cleophas’ iratze, looking at him disapprovingly. Luke loved her, but he was getting very annoyed with her behavior. She looked a lot like a mother right now. 

Luke took a deep breath, as Cleophas got back to her feet and looked at him. 

“I’m surprised you came here,” Luke said, voice icy cold. Cleophas didn’t say anything. She knew why he was looking at her like that. She knew why he didn’t want her here. “Of all the places you could go, you chose to ask a Downworlder for help?” he asked. “A soulless monster. A filthy animal. Or have you forgotten all the names you called me? Because I haven't.”

The words she’d said as she looked at his injured and desperate face still stung. He’d expected her to accept him, because she was his sister. He’d expected that all of what they’d been through together, their life spent together, their blood shared, would be enough. But it hadn’t. 

“Luke,” Clary said as she put her hand on Luke’s arm, chastising him. He struggled to keep himself from snapping at her. She was an eighteen-year-old child who didn’t understand anything about his situation and the pain of being rejected the way he had been. 

Clary turned to Cleophas. “What happened at the Citadel?” 

“Valentine's men infiltrated,” Cleophas replied, her attention only on Clary. “We tried to fight them off. They... They killed Magdalena and took me.” The emotion wasn’t  _ real _ . Luke could feel it. 

“Only you?” Luke asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why is that?” 

He knew the answer. Because Cleophas was a Circle member. She’d helped them before, and she had probably helped them this time too. Right after Clary had met her and probably told her Valentine was back.

“I don't know,” Cleophas replied. “He brought me to New York, locked me up. I managed to get a jump on one of his guards and fight my way out.”

“You can't seriously expect us to believe that,” Luke huffed. It just didn’t make sense, not when you knew Cleophas like he did. 

“Luke, you're not helping,” Clary chimed in. Luke didn’t look at her. She was a child who couldn’t understand the depth of his issues with Cleophas, a child who trusted her immediately, because she didn’t know better. He guessed that, in Clary’s mind, he was the one that was the enemy. 

“It's okay, Clarissa,” Cleophas replied softly. She turned to Luke, looked right into his eyes for the first time in forever, and sighed. “I know where Valentine's hiding. I can lead you to him.”

“Luke,” Clary interjected, trying to physically put herself in between Luke and his sister. “we have to do this. It's our chance to find Valentine.”

Luke shook his head. “No way. I couldn't save your mother, but I'll be damned if I put you in jeopardy.”

“If we could just discuss this -”

“Not now, Clary,” he growled, but the alpha power didn’t work on his shadowhunter daughter. 

“Please.”

Clary stared him down, and he knew she wasn’t going to stop pestering him until they talked about this. He didn’t know what else to say to convince her. He knew his sister very well, and he also knew that she had been even more vehemently adoring of Valentine than Jocelyn had been. He didn’t trust her. He  _ couldn’t _ . 

He sent a look towards the wolves that were around and they all gathered around Cleophas, clearly showing she was not going to escape if she tried. Clary and Luke walked into the kitchen of the Jade Wolf, and the second the door closed, Luke turned to Clary. 

“Look. I know my sister's convincing, but you can't fall for her lies. You don’t know her the way I do.”

Clary crossed her arms. “She knows where Valentine is. We have to go there and get the Soul Sword back, before he starts planning to kill people with it.” 

Luke shook his head. “I’m not letting you do that. You’re barely a Shadowhunter, you’re still going through training, and I’m just a cop. He has an army of followers. We’ll only get ourselves killed.”

Valentine probably had an army with him, and he had the Soul Sword, and the Mortal Cup. Clary and he were not enough to bring him down, to save everyone. Luke tried to imagine the two of them going head to head with Valentine and all he could see was Clary’s broken body laying on the floor, blood dripping from her mouth, a sword in her stomach.

“This is our chance to make Valentine pay for what he did to Mom,” Clary tried. “To stop him before he hurts anyone else.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, truly believing in herself. She might be strong for a Shadowhunter-in-training but she had no idea what fighting an army was like. Luke knew enough. Enough to know she would just end up dead. And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she died on his watch.

“No,” Luke shook his head. He crossed his arms and stared at her, putting his foot down. “We're turning her over to the Clave. They have more resources.”

Clary seemed to get more agitated. “The Clave will take days to give us what we need. Our request for backup will get lost in the great administrative machine and you know it!” She exclaimed, almost desperate. “We need to do something now. If he has the Sword, who knows what he'll do next.”

Clary seemed to be incredibly worried about the Sword being in Valentine’s hands. Luke was worried about that as well but Clary really seemed… desperate to get it out of his hands.

“This is my call, Clary,” Luke reminded her. “I’ll talk to the pack, and we’ll bring Cleophas in.” 

This time, he didn’t listen when she called his name, and didn’t look back. He’d made his decision, and he had to do this. It couldn’t be any other way. They had to trust the Clave with this, else they were all going to die. 

<hr></hr>

Raphael’s jaw was set and he looked at Nelson openly. There were chances that the man would take the open stare as a threat but Raphael couldn't really care less right now. By having his prey brought into the room with them present, he’d made them complicit to the murder that was likely to follow.

And they couldn’t go to Clave, else they would learn about the civil war brewing in the city. He was angry at Nelson now. He had been before of course, but now it was really getting on his nerves. 

Not enough that he would break his composure and attack first though. But if Nelson took his not-downturned eyes as a threat, then he wouldn’t really hesitate to beat him to a pulp. 

The poor girl was panicking and trying to get away still. She was right to be afraid, Raphael knew she wouldn’t survive this night. 

The fact that Nelson was able to find victims in the club meant the Seelies that owned it were somewhat protecting him. Or that he had paid them or the Seelie Queen enough that his presence and activities were allowed. 

Either way, the arrangement was terrible for Raphael and his people. 

Nelson looked around the room for a second, stopping to stare at Raphael and Simon, gauging their age and skill in combat. If they were lucky and Simon looked older and stronger than he was, it wouldn’t end in too much of a mess. 

Nelson smirked, and Raphael cursed under his breath. Simon was too  _ cute _ of a fledgling to pose any threat and they all knew it. Nelson included.

“Kill them,” Nelson ordered his men. “It’ll make taking over his clan much easier.” 

Raphael cursed louder this time. He looked over his shoulder at Simon, who stared back at him with wide, scared and angry eyes. He had hoped this would go down easily and that they would be able to walk out unscathed at the very least, if not victorious. 

The three vampires that were around them ran to them, and Raphael took a punch to the jaw pretty much immediately. He growled, fangs out, at the young, but strong and capable opponents. Behind them, Nelson seemed to pay no mind to them, rather focused on biting down onto the girl’s breast and sucking out her blood. 

Raphael started fighting for his life, and for Simon’s. 

Jace had been engrossed in his conversation with the Seelie woman named Kaelie when he distantly heard the fighting.

His hearing rune had been activated, even if it made a headache form in his head with the noise of people having sex, the music and everything else in the club. He’d tried to hear what they were saying in the back rooms but the rune hadn’t been strong enough. It was strong enough to pick up the sounds of pained groans, limbs hitting limbs and breaking furniture.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Kaelie before getting up. “I’ll see you another time, I have things to do.” 

Kaelie shrugged, and slipped a piece of paper into his jean pocket. “My number, for later.” 

Jace barely thanked her before walking to the door. There was a bouncer there, tall, broad-shouldered and mean-looking but Jace took out his seraph blade, activated it, and the man immediately cowered back.

At least that still worked. 

The door was not locked, so he was able to open it easily and walk inside of the VIP room. It was less floral than the rest of the bar, probably because all of the vegetation was concentrated around another door, that Jace knew was a Portal to the Seelie realm.

It made the sight of five vampires fighting to the death next to a sixth one who was draining a twitching and terrified woman of her blood a bit unusual. Seelies didn’t love to have vampires close to their realm. They found them a bit too… dead for their taste.

Simon was trying desperately to get away from a tall vampire wielding a wooden stake, and Jace didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, his blade properly decapitated the vampire, the body disintegrating before it even touched the ground.

“Jace?” Simon blurted out. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Saving your stupid ass, it seems,” Jace replied. “Get behind me, we’re leaving.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Raphael and I have this under control. I thought you weren’t going to get involved with my business. It was one of the conditions to me letting you stay over.” 

Raphael growled, his own stake finding its way into his opponent’s heart. “You’re harboring a Shadowhunter?!” He shouted at Simon. 

“Long story, Santiago,” Jace replied. 

Just as they were managing to take down the last of the three guards, a dozen others came out of a back door.

“Fuck,” Simon grumbled under his breath. 

Jace just grabbed him by the collar, and started pulling him out of the room. “Santiago, if you wanna leave, we gotta get out, right now.” 

It hurt him to give in, but Raphael eventually decided that the Shadowhunter was right. He had to run.

<hr></hr>

Cleophas had been detained in the locker room of the Jade Wolf as Luke and the Pack had gotten ready to bring her in to the Institute. Clary had joined Celophas, probably pouting about the fact Luke wouldn’t listen to her. 

He didn’t know what was up with Clary. She was much more agitated than usual, and though it wasn’t the first time she talked back to him and tried to chastise him for behavior she didn’t understand, she’d been particularly annoying today. 

Luke knew Cleophas much better than Clary did. He remembered growing up with her, and the way she’d always believed in the Angels and in the mission of the Clave much more than the rest of his family. Cleophas and Amatis had gotten into a pretty big fight one day Amatis had started getting interested in politics, and in the radicals’ party. 

Now that he thought about it, the fact that Amatis had survived the Uprising, when she was one of the very rare activists that were working to bring more equality to the Clave, was surprising. 

Alaric walked up to him as Luke grabbed his jacket. He stopped by his side, looking at him with what seemed to be respect mated with something else. Disapproval?

“Pretty cold-blooded, turning your sister over to the Clave,” Alaric said.

Definitely disapproval. Luke sighed. He guessed that it was cold-blooded, but it was also the only option they had. Cleophas was an elite warrior and a follower of Public Enemy Number 1. Luke couldn’t let her walk free, not after everything she’d done.

“Remember that the next time the pack tries to question my authority,” Luke replied, sliding on his jacket and looking around. 

It worked well enough for him that now he had proof that he wasn’t on the Shadowhunters’ side anymore. He knew what people in the pack said about him, what they had been saying not only since he’d joined the pack, but since he’d become Alpha. He was a Turned wolf, and he hadn’t been Turned from a mundane, like all of them. He had been Turned from a Naphil. And one that was Valentine’s parabatai.

Unconsciously, he reached up to his chest, rubbing over the spot where his parabatai rune had been. He remembered being tethered to Valentine, how simple and powerful it had been at the beginning, and how twisted and ugly it had become. He remembered how Valentine cut him off from feeling him sometimes, and he remembered the moments where he’d felt the way Valentine felt when he murdered Downworlders.

Bliss and adrenaline and the righteousness of a man that was so hateful that slaughter seemed right. He shuddered at the memory. He was glad his bond was gone, even if he often wished it had been broken differently.

“Get ready,” Luke said. “We leave in five.”

He walked into the kitchen and through it, towards the break room and the locker room. In the dining hall, the members of the pack that were coming with him were preparing, so there was only Cleophas, Clary and two wolves in the back.

Or it was supposed to be those four.

Luke pushed the door open and the first thing he realized was that no one was there. From smell alone, he knew Cleophas and Clary were gone. 

On the floor of the locker room laid the guards he’d left, both unconscious but alive. 

Clary had helped Cleophas escape. He ground his teeth, trying to forget the stabbing pain of betrayal, and walked back out of the locker room, ordering his pack to go look for them.

<hr></hr>

“What happened to ‘I’ll sleep during the night and you won’t even see me’?” Simon shouted as the door of the boathouse slammed shut. 

Behind him, Jace crossed his arms. He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish, to look like he regretted having broken his word. Simon wanted to scream, even more than he already was. 

“I’m not the one who visits Seelie clubs and gets into deadly fights. What the fuck was that about?” Jace asked, staring at him. 

Simon didn’t have to tell him. He didn’t deserve to know everything about what went on with vampires in the city, no matter how righteous he wanted to be. This was private vampire business, absolutely nothing that Jace needed to know. 

“None of your fucking business, that’s what it was about,” Simon replied. 

Now, Nelson would think that they were allied with the Clave more deeply than they said they were. He would actually think that they were on the same side, when Raphael’s clan would never be subservient to the Clave. They just wanted peace. 

“Does Clary know?” Jace asked eventually, sighing deeply.

Simon huffed. Of course she didn’t. Why would she know? It wasn’t any of her business, even if she was his best friend and basically family. Simon didn’t reply, walking over to the fridge and taking out a fresh bag of blood. Seeing Nelson drink from the poor girl at the club had made him hungry, even if he hated to admit it.

He didn’t want to be one of those vampires like Nelson, the kind that were everything the Clave thought them to be. Violent and barbaric and blood-thirsty. Plus, Nelson was a raging racist ass, so one more reason he didn’t want to be associated with him. 

“I’m guessing your silence means you didn’t tell her,” Jace added.

“There’s nothing to tell her,” Simon replied. “It’s not any of your, her, or the Clave’s business.”

“I see,” Jace hummed. No, he didn’t. He didn’t see, he didn’t know. He had no fucking idea what being a vampire was like, what being part of the Shadow People was like. He’d been a Shadowhunter for most of his life, and had been raised and made into who he was by the Shadow World’s version of David Duke.

Simon checked his watch. His date with Maia was in almost an hour, and he was disheveled and fresh out of a bloody fight, with the threat of having Jace go and tell everything to the Clave. 

Maybe he should cancel the date and deal with this. Maia probably wouldn’t mind a raincheck. 

“You don’t want Shadowhunters to get involved,” Jace said as he took off his jacket and threw his seraph blade into his canoe. “Why?” 

“Why do you think? They’ll murder everyone involved, whatever side they are on.” 

“Clary isn’t exactly the Clave’s most obedient soldier. You could tell her,” Jace pointed out.

Simon sighed heavily. “Clary’s a Shadowhunter. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s like all of you. She’d get the Clave involved because she thinks you all have the ultimate knowledge and power over the world.” He disappeared behind a row of canoes to change into the shirt he’d chosen for the date.

Looking at his seraph blade and stele resting on the pillow in the canoe, Jace sighed. This looked like the kind of situation where the Clave would get involved in a heartbeat. It was messy, and violent, between two sections of the vampire community, and he’d seen it could get deadly quickly. 

Every bone in his body told him to tell Aldertree. Every ounce of training told him that the only way to get this sorted out without more deaths than necessary was to get the Clave to sort it out. Besides, telling Aldertree would probably redeem Jace in the eyes of the Clave… show that he was a good soldier. 

And yet… Simon hadn’t been a vampire for long, and he was already incredibly wary of what would happen if the Clave got involved, to the point he hadn’t even told Clary. 

As Simon got ready for the date he had with the werewolf that had tried to kill him, Jace poundered what he should do. 

<hr></hr>

_ Izzy needs me. Don’t wait for me. Thank you for today.  _

Alec had texted him around an hour after he had left. The message didn’t have much details but it was quite obvious that he needed to focus on his sister, and Magnus would wait. Of course he would.

Family was important, and not only to Alec. Magnus valued his family as well. Catarina, Dot, Ragnor and Raphael, amongst others. There had been many people that had come and gone from his family, but they were all important to Magnus. He shared his heart with many people. Too many maybe.

He stopped himself from thinking more deeply about the people he shouldn’t have welcomed into his family, and rather focused back on the pleasant background of chatter of the bar. 

He’d elected to portal to the Hunter’s Moon for a small drink and a bag of deliciously oily fried chicken, doused in one of his favorite things, sriracha sauce. The Hunter’s Moon was the only place where he got those chicken tenders. It was one of those food cravings that he felt a tiny bit ashamed about, despite the fact that he was deeply against food-shaming. 

The omamori was set on the side, and he would put it back in his pocket, set from grease and hot sauce, when he got his food. For now, he was waiting for Maia, his favorite bartender, to pour him his martini, and stared at the little piece of folded fabric intently. 

He still couldn’t believe that Alec had taken the time to get it while they were shopping. He must have been quite stealthy, because Magnus didn’t remember him being absent for too long. 

Maia walked back towards him, her shaker in hand. She opened it and poured the martini into the glass that was waiting for it, an olive on a bright green toothpick already in there. 

Magnus sighed, relaxing, and slid a bill over to her. “Thank you, my dear.”

Maia’s smile was bright and excited, and he was glad to see her look alright. He knew that her girlfriend had passed away, murdered by Valentine, over a month ago. She was probably still grieving but it was nice to see her smile. Magnus knew how hard loss of a loved one was. He’d been through that specific rodeo many times. 

“On the house for my best tipper,” Maia replied, putting her shaker away and smiling at him. 

Magnus chuckled. He slid the bill further towards her. “Never trust a stingy warlock, Maia,” he said as wisely as he could. “Not when we have an eternity to acquire wealth.” He winked at her.

He knew some warlocks who hoarded their wealth like dragons, who would never even try to tip someone more than the minimum amount required by American social etiquette. He distrusted those people himself. 

“I'll remember that,” Maia smiled, nodding at him as she went to ring him up. She knew that she could keep the rest of the money, the one leftover from after the payment was taken. 

His gaze went back to the omamori. He couldn’t stop staring at it. It was simple and beautiful and made his heart skip a beat every time he saw it. He couldn’t believe his own surprise when Alec had given the black bag to him. 

“What you got there?” Maia asked, seeing him stare at the little thing. 

Magnus took a deep breath and looked up at her. “A gift,” he explained. It was stupid how important this little piece of fabric was becoming in his mind and heart right now. And maybe it was also the simplicity with which Alec had given it to him. 

He’d just grinned at him with that wide, awestruck sort of smile that he was wearing so often when they were together. The way he’d explained the meaning of the object had been so casual. Like he didn’t expect it to have such a big importance in Magnus’ life. 

“I can't remember the last time someone bought me one,” Magnus admitted, and he caught, from the corner of his eyes, Maia’s little pout of empathy, or condolences. 

“I'm used to people making demands,” Magnus explained. He rolled his eyes at the thought of all these people who walked into his home and… demanded things. "Reinforce the wards, Magnus,” he said . "Heal my broken heart, Magnus." He added in a different voice. "Portal me to Paris, Magnus."

Maia nodded. He guessed she probably understood. 

“Is it from someone special?” She asked, softly, looking at him like he was a small, adorable animal. 

Magnus looked down at the red and white patterns, the golden thread and the green design. Alec’s smile and Alec’s hands around the little black bag, and the way it had seemed so easy and so right. How he hadn’t seemed to think about whether Magnus deserved a gift or not. It was just… a gift.

“I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 19, How Are Thou Fallen Part 3!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	19. How Are Thou Fallen Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you're doing okay in these difficult times!  
> Today's chapter is part 3 of How Art Thou Fallen!
> 
> In this chapter is maybe my favorite fight scene I've ever written.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Simon was early, Maia noticed as the vampire walked through the doors of the Hunter’s Moon. He was also dressed very well, maybe too well for a first date in a bar, that was probably going to end with her feeling terrible about going on a date so soon after Gretel’s death. 

It had been a month and a half. Maia had grieved, and she was starting to feel better. And she liked Simon. She was afraid that if she waited too long to ask him out, if she took her time, he would stop liking her back. 

Yeah, he was a bit… weird and quirky and overwhelming, so different from Gretel and her deadpan snark that was so compatible with Maia’s similar nature. He was… sweet. Almost too sweet. Like an eager puppy. 

“Sorry,” Simon said as he approached her. “I’m too early. I could leave and come back, if you want?” 

Maia shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. My shift’s done in 15. Just sit down, I’ll get you some blood, and we can start when I’m off the clock.” 

Simon nodded and chose a table, a little secluded, where they would be comfortable to talk later on. Smart move. Maia liked the guy. Even if he was an insufferable vampire. A pang of guilt hit her in the chest again. 

She walked around the bar and poured some O neg into a shot glass. From what she remembered, he’d mentioned that it was his favorite. She also started making some last minute drinks, smiling at the waitress who’d given her the order. 

Was she ready for this? Maybe not. The guilt and nervousness made angry butterflies attack her stomach.

Simon was sitting, playing with his phone in a very obvious ‘I am not nervous at all’ way that made her smile. Okay. She could do this. It was just going to be one nice evening, and a start of something new. Worse case scenario, she would just tell him she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship but… 

She wanted him in her life. He made her feel… cozy. He made her laugh too, which was incredibly rare.

She spent the last few minutes of her shift making cocktails as fast as she could, and staring at the clock, waiting for the minutes to go by. 

Finally, the clock read 12am and she got out from behind the bar, grabbing the O neg and her own margarita, before sitting across from Simon at the table. 

“Shift’s over,” Maia smiled. “All yours now.”

Simon looked somewhat terrified by the implications of that, but laughed it off. He looked as nervous as she was. 

“I haven’t been on an actual… grown-up date before,” Simon chuckled. “I haven’t had a relationship in a while and I’m guessing sophomore year dating is not the same thing as this,” he said, waving about at the table in between them.

Maia laughed. “I get that. And it’s not very different, you know, just potentially more alcoholic.”

Simon nodded. “I see, I see,” he smiled, looking down at the glass he had in front of him. He grabbed it and took a little sip of it. “Alcoholic or not, this O neg is pretty amazing.” 

“Thank you. It was pretty hard to actually find some good suppliers, because I have no idea what really makes blood good, you know?” 

Simon chuckled. “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t been a vampire for long enough to know what’s good blood and what’s bad blood.” 

“One’s a Taylor Swift song,” Maia pointed out.

Simon nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes. Thank you for your wisdom.” He chuckled. 

They fell silent for a moment as they both sipped on their drinks. Maia was a little tired from her shift but she was genuinely relaxed around Simon. 

“So,” Maia started. “I asked Luke about you.” 

Simon chuckled. “I hope there weren’t too many embarrassing stories.” 

“We went through the embarrassing stories in one of our very first conversations,” Maia reminded him. “Besides, I was mostly fishing for information about what you like.”

“What did he say?” 

Maia chuckled. “That you’re a huge nerd,” she replied. 

“Okay, okay, he’s not wrong,”Simon nodded, looking at his glass. His fingers played over the glass surface with nervous and restless energy. Maia remembered Luke had mentioned something about him playing an instrument, but she didn’t remember which one. 

“He didn’t mention whether you were a Star Wars or a Star Trek guy, though. I’m guessing he doesn’t really get the difference between the two,” Maia chuckled.

“Is there an answer that’s a deal breaker?” Simon asked teasingly.

Maia hummed, a wide smile tugging at her lips. “Tell me your preference, and I will let you know,” she replied, hints of flirting in her tone.

\----------------

If there was one way for Jace to not think about what he’d seen and his decision not to tell the Clave, it was to have a drink and flirt with a beautiful woman. Who cared if he was officially aligning himself with enemies of the Clave, with the Downworld? Right now, he had a whisky in front of him and a Seelie in his arms. 

It was Kaelie, the Seelie he’d met at  _ Le Peuple Oublié.  _ She wore a mundane-looking dress, short and floral, with leather boots that reached right below her knee. Her hand was resting on Jace’s thigh. Around them, at the same table, two other Seelie women were having a drink. 

Jace reached for his glass and took a sip. If he drank enough, his thoughts would swim in alcohol and he wouldn’t think about how he was actually betraying the Clave. He hadn’t been a perfect soldier lately, but he’d never done something so… against the interest of the Clave.

He hadn’t chosen to be taken by Valentine, he hadn’t chosen a lot of what had happened these past few months but… right now, he was choosing not to tell them about Kenneth Nelson and the vampire civil war. Something he knew the Clave would want to know, so they could deal with it themselves.

Jace had no doubt that dealing with a situation like this meant arresting the leaders of the two factions, and killing the rest of the clans.  _ Vampires are like vermin, they just keep appearing no matter how thoroughly you exterminate. A clan will form again eventually.  _

“Why don’t you take me back to your place, Jace?” Kaelie asked against his ear, taking him out of his thoughts.

His place. Right. The canoe he was sleeping in, in the boathouse next to the Jade Wolf. It was an awesome place to have sex with a gorgeous Seelie. He would definitely not feel ashamed of that at all.

“The Institute isn’t exactly Seelie-friendly these days…” He said, fingers caressing her lower back in circles. 

“Then we can just go to mine…” Kaelie grinned. Her eyes were dark and her hand was creeping up his leg, closer and closer to his crotch. 

“I haven’t finished my drink…” Jace chuckled. He was bare inches away from her, their breaths mingling. “You're gonna have to wait...”

Kaelie pouted.“Aw...” 

“Jace.”

Luke Garroway’s voice cut through the light haze of liquor and Jace looked away from Kaelie. The werewolf was standing there, staring at him, with barely contained nervousness wafting off of his body. 

“What’s going on?” Jace sighed, almost rolling his eyes. He was tired. He just wanted to drink and fuck, and not think. 

“We gotta go,” Luke replied. “It's Clary. She's in trouble.”

Jace grabbed his drink, finished the glass and stood up. Kaelie looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a bit taken aback by his sudden change of mood. Jace had gotten up a bit too fast but he was already walking towards the door with Luke. He barely even looked at the Seelie before the door closed behind them.

“What happened?” He asked as the werewolf led him to his car.

“She helped my sister, Sister Cleophas, allied to Valentine, escape. I’m afraid Cleophas manipulated her into going directly to Valentine and surrendering herself.”

“Fuck,” Jace said, shaking his head. He grabbed his stele and activated his iratze. Immediately, the tipsiness of alcohol left his system and he was thinking clearly.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “Fuck.” 

\----------------

Clary didn’t know exactly how long she’d been walking alongside Cleophas. She had her subway card but Cleophas didn’t, and they couldn’t exactly portal. Wherever she was guiding her, where Valentine was, it was quite far from the Jade Wolf. 

Clary tried not to think about how Luke would react to her going behind his back and freeing Cleophas. It was for the greater good. Luke couldn’t know about the Soul Sword, couldn’t know what Valentine’s plans were. If she told him, he would tell the rest of the Downworld, and it would be chaos. And the Clave would learn about her abilities. 

“Where are we going, exactly?” Clary asked, looking at the woman next to her. She was doubting a bit that Cleophas was perfectly on her side. After all she had been a Circle member at some point, and that meant something. She chose to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

“We're close,” Cleophas replied, noncommittally. 

“You realize by going against Valentine, you're risking your life?” Clary asked, staring at her, trying to see if she gave up some sort of information on her true allegiance. Cleophas didn’t wince or squint or do anything that looked like she was not being truthful to Clary. “He'll never forgive you for this.”

Cleophas sighed softly. “I have to make amends.”

Again, there was no real reply. That was strange and made Clary slightly uncomfortable. 

She was about to reply, ask for more information, when she felt it again. It got to her quickly this time. It was more directed, almost as if the source of the noise was closer. And it was much less…. Inhuman.

It hurt more, but not physically. It hurt like someone was killing her loved one. It hurt like her heart was ripped out like someone she loved told her she was a monster, that they never loved her. It hurt like a thousand rejections and a thousand papercuts, all at once. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, to beg for mercy, and to make it stop. The headache was piercing too. 

She tumbled, leaning against a trash can to stay upright. She gasped, the sound louder than before and becoming more painful. A distressed groan escaped her mouth and she reached up, grabbing her head, as if it was going to make the cry go away. It was so incredibly desperate. 

“Clary!” Cleophas exclaimed. “What is it? What's wrong?” 

It had to be her. It had to be a way to get her down, to weaken her and take her prisoner. Iron Sisters had powers beyond the ones of ordinary Shadowhunters. That had to include auditory hallucinations that made her feel like she was dying, like she was tortured. 

Clary took a deep breath. She gathered her strength, braced herself, and struck. She twirled around, throwing her right leg out. Her foot hit Cleophas in the chest, sending her flying backwards. 

Clary winced through the pain of the great cry, grabbing Cleophas by the neck unceremoniously as the woman tried to get up. 

“What are you doing to me?” She snarled, glaring at her. 

Cleophas seemed to not understand what was happening. But she was a good liar. She wouldn’t show if she knew. Not if Clary didn’t threaten her with violence. 

“Let go.” Cleophas begged, Clary didn’t let go of her. It hurt so much. It was horrible. 

“The sound…” She groaned. “In my head. It's coming from Valentine, isn't it?” 

It had to be. There was no other explanation. He had to have found a way to infiltrate her mind. Maybe it was Dot again. She’d managed to make her see things that weren’t real before, she could have managed to make her hear things as well. Clary wouldn’t put anything past Valentine and his followers. 

“What sound?” Cleophas asked. She still behaved like she didn’t understand what was happening and Clary wanted to scream. 

Suddenly, as if someone had turned up a volume dial, the sound got louder. Tears appeared in Clary’s eyes despite the way she tried, desperately, to gather control over her body and pain management. 

“It's getting louder!” She cried out despite herself, desperate for release as she grabbed her head.

“Activate my hearing rune,” Cleophas asked. “There.” She pointed at her neck, and despite her suspicion, Clary complied. 

If sharing the sound had an effect on its intensity, Clary didn’t feel it. It was just as bad as it had been before, possibly even worse. Tears were now steadily falling from her eyes as she tried to shake the sound out of her mind.

“It's not…” Cleophas started, tears welling up in her eyes as well. “It’s not possible.”

“What is it?” Clary snarled, grabbing at her arm now that she had let go of her neck. She grabbed her, as if it was going to make her tell her what was happening. “Tell me! What is Valentine doing to me?” 

Cleophas seemed to struggle to gather her thoughts. Emotion, recognition and pain were clear on her features now. 

“It's not Valentine,” Cleophas said, voice heavy with something Clary had never really heard before. “It is an Angel.” The capital A was clear in her tone, reverent and full of absolute awe. Tears were caught up in her lashes, and they were so close that Clary could feel the way the revelation affected her. 

“Angel?” Clary asked, confused. She thought Angels were… distant beings who never came close to Earth. She thought Raziel was the last Angel to have been on Earth, almost a millennium ago, to give the Mortal Instruments and Nephili powers to Jonathan Shadowhunter and his family. 

“Here on earth,” Cleophas replied. She was fully crying now. “I think he's holding him captive. The Angel is crying out for help.” She finished, choking in pain and tears. 

Just as she said those words, as if the Angel could hear what she had said, the cry lessened. Maybe he knew he had been heard by one of his worshippers.

Wind replaced the scream, bellowing into the alley they were standing in, panting, trying to recover from the anguish they’d felt.

“Valentine…” Cleophas choked. “How could you?” 

Clary couldn’t even think of a witty reply. She honestly wouldn’t have thought Valentine was gone to the point where he would torture an Angel. They were supposed to be the beings Valentine fought in the name of. They were supposed to be the beings he worshipped. 

The reprieve from the cry was short. The scream was more human again this time, more real. Shorter as well. 

“His cry is so full of pain,” Cleophas whispered. She leaned heavily against a trash can, looking down, trying to catch her breath and stop her tears. She couldn’t.

Clary had heard that Iron Sisters had special relationships to Angels. Maybe that made Cleophas even more horrified than she was before.

“Angels are supposed to be rare,” Clary said, looking at Cleophas. She couldn’t help the accusatory tone in her voice. She didn’t want to risk falling into another trap. Maybe Cleophas was just faking it all. “That almost no one has ever seen one.”

Thunder cracked in the air as a storm gathered in the sky.

“It's unheard of,” Cleophas explained. “Iron Sisters hear the Angels whisper when we're forging our weapons, but even we have never seen one.” She stared at Clary, observed her in a way that made Clary slightly uncomfortable. Why was she staring at her like that? “To communicate with one, you must be blessed by the Angels. Clary you are blessed.”

Clary huffed. Blessed by the Angels. Her mother was dead, Luke and Simon were in danger of death as well, by the hands of her father, her brother was far from okay, and the girl she liked was very straight and seemed to not return Clary’s feelings. She was somehow the most important chess piece in the game people she barely knew were playing. She hated every second of it. 

“No more lies, Cleophas,” Clary snapped, staring at her, glaring. “ I know you're working with Valentine.”

Cleophas stopped. She looked at her, with a deep regret and sadness in her eyes. Clary knew, then. 

“You killed Magdalena, didn't you?” 

Cleophas sighed deeply, eyes looking up at the sky. “I loved Magdalena,” she replied, full of sorrow. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back tears. “I thought Valentine... I thought his way was the only way to make the world a better place,” she explained, looking at Clary, as if she was trying to convince her. Clary shook her head. “A safer place.”

A better and safer place, at the expense of Downworlders. Of Cleophas’ own brother. 

“No matter what sacrifices had to be made, harming an Angel, holding him captive... That goes against everything we believe in.” 

“What, and killing Downworlders doesn't?” Clary hissed.

“You don't understand,” Cleophas said, in that tone that adults used when they thought Clary was too young and naive to understand what happened in the world around her. “An Angel is pure goodness. They're the embodiment of what Shadowhunters stand for. If Valentine's harming an Angel, then everything we love will be destroyed.”

Clary couldn’t believe that genocide wasn’t where Cleophas drew the line. She couldn’t believe that the issue with Valentine’s plan was that he was harming an Angel, not that he was going to slaughter thousands of innocent lives. 

Clary should have listened to Luke. She should have known that he was right.

“You know, Luke is right,” Clary hissed. “You are not a Shadowhunter. You are a traitor. You're the Clave's problem now,” she grabbed her arm, trying to get her to move so she could bring her to the Institute.

Luke had been right, of course he had. Clary couldn’t believe she had betrayed him like this, for Cleophas. 

“No!” Cleophas begged, refusing to go with Clary. “Please. Let me take you to Valentine. We have to free the Angel. Then I'll turn myself in.”

This didn’t make sense. Clary wanted to scream. 

“Why help me now?” Clary asked, staring at the other woman. She looked truly like she’d had a revelation, but Clary wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

“Don't you see the storm coming?” Cleophas asked. As if on cue, thunder cracked through the air again, wind blowing around them. Clary shuddered. “If Valentine has the angel and a bolt of lightning -” 

“He can activate the Soul Sword,” Clary finished, horrified.

Fuck. There was no time to spare. What had been a distant possibility was now urgent. The storm was reaching its peak over New York, and if they didn’t stop him now, everyone Clary loved was going to die. Luke and Simon would be gone forever, and so would Jace. Because Jace had demon blood. 

Clary and Cleophas looked at each other, and started running. They didn’t make it far though. 

As they got out of the alleyway, a car came to a screeching halt in front of them. The lights on it made it clear it was a police car, and Clary recognized it as Luke’s. Jace got out of the passenger seat, his seraph blade in hand. Luke aimed his gun at Cleophas. 

“Cleo, you hurt her, I'll drop you where you stand,” Luke growled, no hesitation in his voice. 

Clary put herself in between the woman and Luke, holding her hands up. “Wait, no!” 

“Clary, get out of the way!” Jace shouted. 

“Luke, don't!” Clary replied. “We need her.”

Luke kept his gun up but Clary could see he’d relaxed a little bit. Maybe. Explaining all of this to them was going to be hard. Especially if they had to explain everything about the Soul Sword… Or maybe they could just tell them the part about the Angel. 

\-------------

The lighthouse Cleophas had led Luke, Clary and Jace to was chilling. Luke stood in the shadows, gun already out and aimed somewhere in front of him, where he knew Valentine would eventually stand. 

He hadn’t seen him face to face since the day Valentine had trapped him with werewolves and caused his Turning. It had been almost twenty years, and Luke didn’t know what it would be like to stand in front of his parabatai again after all this time, and all the pain he’d caused him.

And he was putting his entire trust in Cleophas. His big sister. The other person that had betrayed him in the worst way possible. After Valentine and Jocelyn, she was the one he’d trusted most. Today, he was putting all of the trust he had left into her, hoping she had truly changed her ways as much as she said she had.

A small skeptical voice told him that he shouldn’t trust her. That she would turn her back on him as soon as she spoke to Valentine, as soon as she brought Clary back to him. It had to be a ploy. It had to be.

Cleophas entered the room Valentine had elected to stay in, where he seemed to be working on more of his insane plans, if Luke could judge by the books, diagrams and sheets of paper crowding the only table he could see. 

Luke stayed behind her, in the shadows, walking until he was behind Valentine. He was bald now, right. The Soul Sword was strapped in his back, and it looked wrong for it to be anywhere but in the Mortal Chamber, in the City of Bones.

“Cleophas,” Valentine said. Cleophas looked at him with what looked like defiance, and Luke worried she was going to give them away too fast. “Did you find Clarissa?” 

So she  _ had _ been tasked to give Clary to him. It hadn’t only been Luke’s paranoia. He was glad he hadn’t just imagined it all. Now came the moment where Cleophas would show if she’d really changed sides.

“I did,” Cleophas said. “And I was right. She is gifted. There are things she showed me I didn't know were possible.” Her voice sounded almost like worship as she said those things. It made Luke a bit uncomfortable. 

“So,” Valentine breathed. “Where is she?” 

Luke swallowed. He stepped forward, aiming his gun towards Valentine’s head. His parabatai’s head. 

“I'm afraid she's a little preoccupied,” he said, and Valentine immediately reacted.

Luke had expected to have surprise work more in his favor than it did. He watched as Valentine and Cleophas fought. The woman managed to hit him a few times, but he quickly immobilized her, taking out his kindjal and pressing it against her throat. 

Luke remembered that weapon. He remembered Valentine coming back from the weaponsmith with the kindjal pair, the one made for Jocelyn and the one made for Valentine himself. He remembered the hint of jealousy he’d felt as he knew his parabatai was going to promise marriage to Jocelyn. He hadn’t loved her then, but he’d been jealous of the ease with which Valentine found a wife. The Morgenstern name had families clamoring to ally their daughters to him. Graymark was less than important, especially when you factored in the militant ways of both of his sisters. 

“Let her go,” Luke exclaimed. He could hardly aim somewhere where hurting Valentine wouldn’t hurt Cleophas too. “This isn't her fight.”

Valentine smirked and shook his head. He rested his kindjal against the Circle Rune burnt in Cleophas’ throat.

“It has been since she joined my army,” he snarled. 

This wasn’t going to go down as painlessly as Luke had planned. He knew Valentine. He knew he wouldn’t stop at killing Cleophas to get away. After all, he’d purposefully broken their sacred soul bond, probably causing himself horrible pain, just because he thought Jocelyn was having an affair with him.

\-------------

Clary prayed that Luke and Cleophas were okay. She didn’t know if they would be able to take Valentine down, but it was necessary for them to keep him busy as long as possible, so they could free the Angel. 

Was it Raziel? Clary knew there was more than one Angel, but she didn’t know the names of any of the others. She’d been told something about her Patron Angel being Metatron, but she didn’t know what that meant, or who Metatron was. 

She looked to her left where Jace was, Seraph sword in hand and held high, ready to fight. They’d had to go through a couple of Circle members to get to the narrow, metallic staircase they were now climbing, trying not to slip from it. 

Jace fighting was a sight to behold. He was strong and ruthless, a well-oiled machine that made Clary’s meager sword-fighting progress look ridiculous. It was scary, in a way, but also thrilling. Fighting at his side was… exhilarating. 

“If Valentine needs lightning to activate the Sword, he probably put the Angel up on the rooftop,” Clary explained. She’d already said it before they’d started climbing, but she repeated it, trying to calm her nerves with the mantra.

“Cleophas could have been lying, Clary,” Jace replied, in the same way he’d already replied. He was more suspicious, but Clary couldn’t exactly show him what she’d heard. Angels were so rare that it made sense for Jace not to believe. 

“She's not. Not about this,” Clary whispered. 

Jace sent her a look. “How do you know?” He asked. “This could all be a trap. This story about the Angel trapped on Earth…”

Clary sighed deeply. “I heard Him. I heard Him calling out to me, begging for help. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was heart-breaking.” Shivers ran down her spine as she remembered the anguish in the cry. 

Jace hummed. He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he started walking up the stairs again. They didn’t have any time to waste. Clary didn’t know how long Luke and Cleophas would be able to hold Valentine up.

“Trust me, okay?” she asked. 

Jace nodded. They arrived in front of the door that led to the rooftop. Clary readied her seraph blade. Jace looked at her for a second, checking if she was ready for the fight that would probably follow. 

Clary nodded at him. Her grip was strong, and she was determined to get to the Angel and free him. She would kill every Circle member in her way if she had to. She didn’t have time to ponder the implications of what she had just thought, and how she’d changed in the past couple of months, because Jace had opened the door and they were stepping out onto the gravel-covered rooftop.

There were three Circle members there. They held Seraph swords and stood guard around a chained figure. She guessed it was the Angel, but he looked more like a feeble old man than a celestial being.

Jace stepped forward, taking the lead. He was the best fighter of the two, by far. He cut figure-eights with his sword, a gesture Clary had noticed him do often before starting a fight.

The sword thrust through the air, in the direction of the Circle member that stood in the middle. The Circle member parried the thrust, and launched a series of hits that Jace seemed to struggle to parry. With great force, the Circle member hit Jace’s sword, Jace’s hand opening despite himself and dropping it. 

Clary barely had time to register the round house kick Jace had just been hit with in the face, because the other two guards had decided that standing idly while their colleague fought was not a good idea.

She wished they’d been dumber. If Jace was being defeated so easily, she would not stand a chance in front of twice the number of enemies. 

She snuck around Jace and the man he was fighting and lunged herself into attack. Her opponent’s sword was longer and heavier, and so was his body, but if she stayed light on her feet, she could maybe defeat one of them while Jace dealt with the others. 

Thunder from the storm crackled around them, lightning flashing and lighting up the battle ground, shining along the smooth metal of blades. Clary groaned and growled as she defended herself, occasionally attacking. 

She hoped it wasn’t too obvious how bad she was at this, compared to Jace, who was currently fighting a Circle member armed with a sword in each hand, with a piece of metal piping he’d ripped from the side of the door.

The last Circle member, who had been engaged in a fight with neither of them suddenly turned towards Clary. He must have noticed that she wasn’t as good at this, she thought. 

She stepped back quickly to dodge a thrust from the one she was already fighting when the second one came for her from her right side. She ducked immediately and the sword of her opponent cut diagonally through the air, where she had been mere seconds ago. 

Clary pushed herself back up, launching her entire body against the chest of her first opponent. She hit him, the man making a pained noise. She was small but she was still heavy enough to not be very pleasant when hit in the chest with.

She used her momentum to parry the second one’s thrust, then twisted her entire body. She threw out her right leg, her foot hitting him square in the chest, and sending him doubling back.

Despite her best efforts, she found herself cornered against the edge of the rooftop, only a relatively thick but not high concrete edge between her and the void. Neither of the dark-haired Circle members in front of her were bleeding, and she knew her luck was going to run out eventually.

She started fighting for her life, parrying and never attacking. She needed to keep her strength. Jace would be done with the other one soon and he would come to her aid and they could take down these two together. 

She took a deep breath. The air was damp with the storm. 

Right as she was about to parry up to the one that was striking down on her, Jace appeared from her right side and stopped him. Clary took advantage of the moment to cut the man diagonally across the stomach. He fell to the ground right as Jace sauntered away towards the last Circle member remaining.

Jace blocked the man’s strike, allowing an opening to form for Clary. She repeated the same strike as before, this time cutting through the man’s back. The Circle member yelled out in pain, knees giving out. 

Right as he was falling to the ground, Clary and Jace both turned on themselves, taking momentum before delivering lethal strikes to his back and stomach, completely in sync. There was no doubt the Circle member was dead.

Clary took a step back, inhaling and shaking herself out of the adrenaline rush of battle. Jace looked at her from across the dead body, a smile of pride and enjoyment wide on his face. It was crazy to find combat so exhilarating, Clary thought. She didn’t care if it was. Fighting with Jace like this was… fun. 

They panted slightly as they both got themselves up and steady, and started walking towards the one they were there for. The Angel. 

\--------------

Valentine's eyes were wide and crazed, and Luke worried that he would just decide to kill Cleophas before taunting the both of them. Luke hadn’t seen that anger in Valentine in years. God, he had missed him terribly for almost a decade. He’d mourned him when he didn’t deserve to be mourned. 

“I can't believe you were stupid enough to think I would let you free Ithuriel, when we were so close to achieving everything that we wanted!” He snarled against Cleophas’ ear. 

Cleophas looked terrified and it made something in Luke ache. This was his sister. He’d always wanted to protect her, even if she could protect herself pretty well. 

“I never wanted this,” Cleophas replied, fear and frustration clear in her tone. “To torture an Angel?” She couldn’t believe that Valentine would dare to say that she wanted to torture an Angel. 

Valentine was agitated, violence clear in the way his hand wrapped tightly around the grip of his kindjal and pressed it against Celophas’ throat. “It isn't torture!” He exclaimed, taking offense to the truth. “It's a means to an end. I can't believe that you are siding with this  _ dog _ .”

Luke was ready for the insult. He was ready for the tone, for the way he spat the word out, as if Valentine hadn’t been responsible for his fate, for the fact that he was now a werewolf. They would have both been much happier had he not shoved him into a barn, in the company of half a pack of rabid wolves, hoping he would die. 

“Lucian may be a Downworlder now,” Cleophas spoke out, staring into Luke’s eyes with a gentleness that he hadn’t seen in decades. “But he has more honor than you ever will.”

Luke couldn’t help the hint of smile that curved his lips. It was too little, too late, maybe. But it could also be the first rope that would build a bridge between them. If she survived.

“I said let her go,” Luke exclaimed. He still couldn’t aim anywhere that wouldn’t hurt or kill her too. And that couldn’t happen. 

Valentine’s words were filled with contempt as he looked at him. “You Graymarks never see the bigger picture, do you?” 

“What's the bigger picture, Val?” Luke asked. The nickname tasted like ash and nostalgia on his tongue. Years of hating and cursing that name made using it harder than Luke would have thought. But also… much easier. “Lying to your followers, killing the woman you love, destroying your children piece by piece?” 

Jocelyn was gone, because of a demon Valentine had sent. Clary was breaking under the pressure and he didn’t know much about Jace but he doubted that he would forever be able to hold the burden of the demon blood in his veins, not when everything he’d ever been told was that it made him a monster.

“Sentimentality has always been your biggest weakness,” Valentine hissed. That was false. Valentine had been Luke’s biggest mistake. Believing that his parabatai, the man he loved like a brother, could be good had been his biggest mistake. He wouldn’t make it again. “Maybe you've changed, huh? Go ahead, Lucian. Put a bullet in me...  _ Parabatai _ .”

Hearing the word from Valentine’s lips was torture. Luke remembered the parabatai ceremony, young Valentine with dark hair and ideals filling his head. He remembered fighting by his side, and how it had felt to be together, to be as one. He remembered the pain of betrayal, the pain of wolf bites, the pain of Turning. 

“Don't you dare call me that,” Luke growled. 

“Why not?” Valentine asked. He was manic, the hand holding the kindjal shaking visibly as he snarled at Luke. “Because it reminds you of your betrayal? How you stole Jocelyn and turned her against me?” 

Luke shook his head. More than eighteen years had passed and Valentine still blamed him for being such a horrible person that he’d turned his wife against him. Valentine still thought that he had nothing to do in the matter, that Luke had made it all happen. As if his cruelty and disregard for lives that weren’t his own were nothing. As if experimenting on his own children, in the womb, was nothing.

“You did that on your own. You killed innocent people.”

“No,” Valentine shook his head, staring at him. Blood seeped out of the wound the incessant shaking if his hand created on Cleophas’ neck. “No, no one is innocent in war.” Valentine sighed deeply, looking up at the sky. If only I'd thought to bring a blade of silver, we could have ended this,” he said, a twisted and cruel regret in his voice. 

“End it now, Lucian!” Cleophas exclaimed. “Pull the trigger!” She tried to wriggle out of Valentine's grip but he held her strongly.

“But once you do, think about what will happen to your sweet sister,” Valentine reminded. 

Cleophas stared at him, begging him to take the shot and kill Valentine and her at the same time. She wanted to sacrifice herself, to pay for what she’d done in blood. Had he been more like Valentine, or had the bond that had linked them together still been there, making Luke a bit more like Valentine, Luke would have taken the shot. But now, he couldn’t.

Valentine exhaled. “You were always so spineless,” he chuckled, disgust clear in his words. 

Valentine moved, throwing the kindjal out towards Luke. Cleophas screamed just as Luke ducked out of the way of the blade. He aimed towards them vaguely, vision not as clear as it should have been. He didn’t have time to aim more correctly, didn’t even have time to shoot. 

In a second, Valentine and Cleophas had disappeared into the darkness again.

\-----------------

Jace and Clary stomped towards the Angel. He didn’t look like the sublime celestial being Jace had been taught to worship as a child. The Angel looked like a frail old man, stringy white hair falling around an emaciated face, thin limbs bound to his almost hollow body with what looked like simple metal chains. 

He guessed they weren’t that simple though, since they held an Angel prisoner. Three of the chains were fixed into the ground, holding the Angel tethered to the surface. Jace couldn’t see his wings. He hoped this wasn’t a trap.

“We have to hurry!” Clary explained as she rushed, running on Jace’s left side. 

Jace crouched down, his stele already working on the strongest unlocking rune he could muster. He was a bit tired from the fight with the three circle members and the fact that soon, the sun would rise. He’d been awake for too long. The unlocking rune faded away into nothingness, not managing to open the chains or even sink into the metal to weaken it.

Clary tugged at the chains next to him as he tried a second unlocking rune, to the same result. The Angel didn’t seem to want to provide any help, barely looking at them as they struggled to free him.

The storm hissed around them, strong winds pushing them to the side, as if the elements themselves wanted to keep the Angel bound. 

Growing tired of the runes that wouldn’t work, Jace straightened up, grabbed his seraph blade and started banging the pommel and hilt violently against the lock keeping the chain fixed to the ground. No matter how hard he drew the sword against it, the lock held. 

“Nothing's working,” he said, straightening back up and looking over at Clary. He couldn’t disguise the panic and sense of uselessness that threatened to overcome him. 

Clary stared back at him with urgency. “Why can't we break the chain?” 

“I don't know. Valentine must have used a warlock, some kind of dark magic.”

Dorothea Rollins was still his prisoner. But if that had happened, there was no way they were going to break the chains. They were only two Shadowhunters, and they couldn’t do magic. All was lost. He swallowed. Exhaustion and the tumultuous events of the past few days heightened his feelings of hopelessness. He took a step back. He couldn’t even free the Angel. 

He closed his eyes for a moment and grabbed his seraph blade again. The sharp blade dug into the flesh of his palm as he gripped it and drove the weapon against the lock again, as violently as he could. It hurt. He could feel his fingers slightly loose sensation as the razor sharp blade cut through nerves and tendons. Blood dripped over his hand but he could barely feel it.

He was about to strike again when Clary let out a loud, distressed groan of pain. He looked over at her. She held her hands to her head, her entire face scrunched up in a mask of agony. 

“What's happening?” Jace asked. 

She didn’t reply. The Angel shifted and Jace’s attention was brought back to him. The Angel had opened his mouth and was now screaming, or chanting, Jace couldn’t tell. Clary seemed to be the only one that could hear the Angel’s cry, and it seemed to be hurting her. 

For a brief moment, Jace imagined himself drawing his blade and sinking it into the Angel’s throat. Golden blood would rush out of the wound as the creature crumbled down, weak body broken in half. He saw Clary’s pain fade away as the torturous sound she seemed to be victim to stopped. 

Clary’s hands left her head at that moment and she stumbled over, her stele shaking in her hand as she started to draw a rune over the chains. 

“What are you doing?” Jace frowned. Unlocking runes didn’t work.

Clary turned to him. She seemed less in pain now. “He's communicating with me.”

What? Jace blinked. The Angel had been communicating with Clary and was now giving her a rune? He looked down at the golden glow of the complex rune she was drawing, trying to shake the screaming in his head that told him that this was wrong, and a trap, and that he shouldn’t be trusting any of these runes. 

The rune glowed from gold to red as it seemed to have an effect. Not the right effect though. It wasn’t breaking the chains. Jace opened his mouth to tell Clary they needed to find another way when the Angel moved.

The Angel opened his arms, pulling apart his wrists. The chains flew apart. They broke with such ease that it made Jace wonder if the Angel had just enjoyed seeing them struggle to break him free.

The Angel turned his sky blue eyes towards the dark clouds that surrounded them, as if searching for its realm. 

Clary gasped. 

Sad-looking, grey and sparse wings opened from the Angel’s back. They should have inspired pity from him but Jace could barely breathe, his entire being frozen in awe of the sight of an Angel. Whatever spell Clary’s rune had broken had dimmed his power entirely, and now, even in this weak and broken down appearance, the Angelic Light shone through and made Jace want to kneel and worship.

The Angel reached towards them, hands outstretched, welcoming. He looked at Jace with a stern and warm look, as if he knew everything Jace had done, all the death he’d caused, the thoughts of murdering him he’d had, and forgave him. Jace could feel the magic of the Angel working over him as he held out his injured, numbed hand, and let the Angel hold it.

Blood spattered on the sleeves of the Angel’s grey robe. 

Clary took the other hand, then the Angel sent them a vision.

_ The Soul Sword landing, the noise of metal stricken resounding as the blade drove into the grass-covered earth of a field.  _

_ A demonic hand, the skin the color of burnt coals, cracked and dry like a desert, nails more akin to claws than human nails, wrapping around the golden hilt in an unnatural, evil sight.  _

_ The Ancient Runes etched into the blade glowing with magic.  _

_ The Sword disintegrating, as well as the hand and the hooded figure it belonged to, their bones a clean and sickening white flashing in Clary and Jace’s eyes.  _

Jace blinked as lightning crashed nearby, and another flash of white invaded his eyes. 

“What was that?” Clary’s voice was distant, both awe-stricken and fear-filled.

The Angel let their hands fall away. He did not look at them, his entire being stretched towards the sky, towards his realm. In a flash of celestial light, the same blue-white color as an activated seraph blade, the Angel brought his wings closer and took flight. 

He flew through the sky faster than a falling star and as he disappeared into the heavens, the storm dissipated.

The sun had risen behind the dark clouds and the sky was as blue as the Angel’s eyes had been. 

Jace swallowed. Tears rose and fell from his eyes despite himself. His fingers felt the wind’s caress and he looked down to his hand.

Where he had cut himself was now a perfect white scar, crossing over his palm as if he had hurt himself months or years before. It almost glowed with a pale light. 

“Our hands…” Clary breathed. 

Jace looked over at her hand. Where the Angel had touched it, on most of her palm, the skin seemed to have lost most of its color, like a birthmark. Jace looked back at his own palm and there it was. 

On Clary’s left hand and Jace’s right, they both bore the mark of the Angel’s touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 20, Love Is a Devil Part 1!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!


	20. Sword And Stake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is a little special because it deals with a lot of more original plot and scenes!  
> This was originally supposed to be Love Is A Devil Part 1 but I wanted to separate the most original things from the rest of the episode!
> 
> If you're sensitive to things like detoxing/withdrawal (including vomiting), you should probably skip the very first Izzy scene!
> 
> There's also a fight scene, and some minor character death, so please be careful if you're in any way sensitive to that!

The heavy doors of the Jade Wolf opened violently and Luke stepped through them. The heady scent of the Chinese food that was cooking in the kitchen. The aromas as well as the scent of the wolves of his pack usually reassured him, but they were failing to contain the anger and betrayal that threatened to overcome him.

On their way from the lighthouse back to the Jade Wolf, Clary had admitted to him what the Soul Sword was really doing in Valentine’s hands. Finally, she’d come clean, after manipulating him into helping her stop Valentine for the past couple of days. 

Clary had known he was in danger of death, and she hadn’t told him. Clary had known that Valentine was in possession of the Soul Sword, of a weapon of mass destruction and she hadn’t told him. Or anyone that wasn't a Shadowhunter, he supposed. 

He’d done his best to keep her from growing up with all of the prejudices that Jocelyn unwillingly threatened to contaminate her with. The taste of failure was bitter in his mouth. 

His anger boiled over as they walked into the dining area. “How could you not tell me that?” Luke shouted. 

“The Downworld would be in total chaos if they knew what the Sword could do,” Clary said, parroting a Clave official’s words, he guessed. He couldn’t  _ believe  _ what he was hearing.

“There would be uprisings everywhere,” Jace added. 

The dining room was deserted at this hour. Wolves were only nocturnal around the full moon, and it had been four days ago. They were all back to regular schedules now. Luke was glad. He did not want his fears and anger to spread to the rest of his pack. He would tell them as soon as possible, call for a reunion of the Pack, and call for a meeting of the Shadow Kinds of New York. Everyone had to know, no matter what Clary thought. 

“So you're saving the Downworlders from themselves? We never asked.” Luke growled, turning to glare at his daughter and Jace. The young man had a bit of decency to look like he didn’t belong here. 

_ At least  _ they _ did the right thing and told you _ , said a nagging little voice in Luke’s head that sounded unnervingly like Jocelyn. Yes. When Luke had been Jace and Clary’s age, when he was hunting for criminal werewolves in the Brocelind Forest with Valentine at his side and on the other side of his parabatai rune, he wouldn’t have told them anything about such a plot to murder them.

Still. Being treated as unable to make the correct decision when it came to his own survival, by the girl he’d raised, held in his arms right after Jocelyn had given birth to her, hurt. Being treated like a lesser being, less capable of complex thought and less capable of understanding complicated situations hurt. 

“We didn't even know that Valentine could activate the Sword until we realized he had an Angel,” Clary explained, as if it changed anything. Whether it had been an emergency or not, she should have told him. She hadn’t. She’d acted like a…. Like a  _ Shadowhunter. _ “Luke, I didn't want you to worry.”

“You let me decide what I should be worried about,” Luke snapped. 

Clary looked taken aback. Immediately, Jace took to her defense. “Look, you don't understand, all right-” 

“No,” Luke snapped, again. He knew he couldn’t let his eyes switch to green in his anger and pain, he knew that would make him look like an unmanageable werewolf, he knew that they would think he was losing control. And they would do what Shadowhunters did. Try and take him down. “I do understand. I do understand that you kept the weapon of my possible genocide from me, and from the rest of those who could be affected by it. I do understand that you thought you knew better, because what? You’ve been a Shadowhunter for a month?” Luke scoffed. “I’ve been in this world, on both sides of this discussion, for longer than you two have been alive.” 

Silence fell onto the Jade Wolf. There were tears catching in Clary’s eyelashes, and he felt guilty for it. He wouldn’t back down. He would maybe apologize, later on, but Clary had to understand that she didn’t hold any sort of greater knowledge about the Shadow World. She had to understand she wasn’t the one responsible for its safety. Else, she would end up just like her father.

Valentine had started out as an idealistic and passionate young soldier. He’d fascinated and charmed dozens of fellow students, including Luke, Jocelyn, the Lightwoods and Hodge Starkweather with his great speeches about the greater calling of Shadowhunters, about the responsibility he held towards the entire world, mundane or not, to keep it safe. 

He’d made himself into a bona fide messiah. The one that would help save the Clave from itself, and save the world from the demonic hordes with his leadership and restructurations of the Nephili society.

Luke remembered  _ believing  _ in him, even more than he trusted him. It had been faith, not fact, not reason, and not good will that had driven the Circle of Raziel forward. It had been the belief that Valentine Morgenstern held the key to saving the world from evil. 

If Clary started to believe herself the Great Savior of the World, Luke knew she would start slipping. Especially if she had Jace Morgenstern as her right hand, believing in her as deeply as Luke had believed in his parabatai.

“It’s not all bad,” Clary whispered, breaking the silence and Luke’s fears. Her voice was tight with tears. “I… We think there’s a way to destroy it.” 

Luke set his jaw. “What else aren't you two telling me?” The tone of complete and utter frustration didn’t escape Clary and Jace, who both shifted awkwardly. 

“The Angel,” Clary started. “He…” She hesitated, trying to find her words. She held her hands together, her right thumb rubbing against the palm of her left. “He showed us something. He showed us both a vision of a demon that can destroy the Sword.”

Luke closed his eyes for a moment. The Angel Ithuriel had… showed them something. He had communicated with them. Something like that had not happened in centuries. He chose to walk past it. He chose to ignore the infeasibility of what they were saying. He chose to… just believe them. He’d think about the implications later.

“How do you know that's what he was telling you?” Luke asked.

“There's no other explanation,” Clary replied, as if it was obvious. Luke didn’t pick up on that one. He let it slide. It was too much for one day. She looked up at Jace, maybe looking for comfort or for help in explaining what they’d seen. “When the demon touched the Sword, he and the Sword both... disintegrated.”

That was impossible. They were talking about the Soul Sword. It was a Mortal Instrument, it was the sword the Angel Raziel had bestowed upon humanity. It wasn’t a sword that got destroyed by the mere touch of a demon. It was not of this dimension, nor was it of Edom.

“Luke,” Jace said, taking a step forward. “It was a demon I'd never seen before.”

Then that was it. They had to find the demon, and at least try and see if the vision they’d been given by Ithuriel was right. 

“Then go find it,” Luke replied. “Go through every book in the Institute’s library.” He looked at Clary for a moment. She looked less hurt and sad than before. “I'll head out and see if that bastard left any clues for us to track him down.” Clary opened her mouth to tell him something, and he decided he didn’t care. 

“Valentine was my parabatai. And he has Cleophas. Whether you were going to try to keep me from going or not, you two need adult supervision.” He said firmly, before walking out of the Jade Wolf.

He was going to track Valentine down and find a way to free Cleophas, and destroy the Soul Sword. Mortal Instrument or not, if Valentine was going to use it for evil, then it needed to be destroyed. 

Luke thought back to Clary and Jace, looking at each other, Jace defending Clary the way he would defend Valentine, back when he was still a Shadowhunter. Those two still held a secret or two, he realized. 

Luke’s heart skipped a beat when he realized he couldn’t trust his daughter anymore.

\------------------------

Izzy grabbed at the sheets. She pulled, grasped, so hard that it was a wonder they hadn’t torn yet. Her fingertips felt raw. She pressed her face further into the sheets, to try and find a cooler spot. 

Everything was damp and hot. The sheets and her nightgown stuck to her body, clung to her, damp with sweat. She felt  _ wet _ , heavy, exhausted. Everything hurt and everything was numb.

What day was it? Was it day or night? She could barely open her eyes, and when she opened them, she barely saw anything. Even Alec or Jace or Clary when they visited her. Alec was by her side the most, she knew it, from his voice more than anything else. 

She could barely feel him through the bond. Had he shut himself out of it? Izzy wouldn’t blame him. She would trade anything to have even half of the pain and nausea, and diarrhea. Her entire body was a battlefield. She hadn’t eaten in the Angel knew how many days but she couldn’t stomach anything anyway.

A violent shudder shook her entire body. She lost grip on the sheets for a second. She blinked. She saw dark spots over the dove grey of her bed. Her hand found her sheets again. She grabbed onto the corner of the mattress this time. One of her legs hung from the edge of the bed. The feeling of air was a relief.

Yin fen was cool and clear and focused. This was a blurry and hot nightmare, suffocating her. Her body twisted despite herself. Her face was wet. She didn’t know if it was sweat or tears. Probably both.

The pain radiated from the scar on her shoulder. It reached her nape too, and every spot where she’d applied yin fen. It felt like holes were being burnt into her skin on those spots.

Her body shook again. 

“Izzy, tell me what to do and I can do it,” Alec said.

It startled her. She hadn’t heard him walk into the room. His voice sounded so far away. Her senses were so dull without yin fen. Trying to see was like having a veil in front of her eyes. 

“Whatever you need.”

She wanted yin fen, but he wouldn’t give it to her. She didn’t need it anyway. What she needed was…. For this to stop.

“I'm OK…” She replied. “I just need to sweat it out.” Her voice was even farther away than Alec’s. It was broken too. Breathy and pained. She didn’t sound like herself. 

_ Weak _ . 

It rose in her esophagus, her jaw setting back and fighting the nausea. She hadn’t eaten. It was going to hurt. She didn’t manage to make it subside. 

She pushed herself further at the edge of the bed, grabbing the bucket that Alec had put next to it. She puked whatever was in her stomach. It was watery and incredibly bitter, burning her mouth and lips and throat. She struggled to breathe, her muscles seizing and trying to force something that wasn’t there from her body. It hurt. She felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her skull from the pressure and the force of the vomiting.

Cold hands grabbed her arms, pulling her from falling over. A wet cloth dabbed at her mouth. She was crying. She wanted to die.

Alec pulled her back into the bed, laying her on her back and pushing back her sweat-tangled hair. He rested the wet, cold cloth on her forehead. 

She thought it would feel good. It didn’t. It burned. It burned like touching ice. 

“Stop!” She groaned out. “It burns!” 

She pushed herself to a sitting position to escape the ice that burned her forehead. Her body shuddered. She felt like she was going to fall over any second.

Alec opened the bond, and she was rushed with a great feeling of love and comfort. Safety covered her like a mental weighted blanket. He shuddered next to her. 

“Shut me out,” Izzy mumbled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Alec shook his head. “I’m okay. I will if it gets to be too much. Let me share this with you.” He dried his hands with a towel, and brushed them together to warm them. 

Izzy closed her eyes. His hands gently rested on her shoulder. They were slightly cooler than her skin, and they didn’t burn her.

She felt herself relaxing just a little more. 

The pain was burning through her shoulder. It felt like the seraph blade Valentine had used to stab her was still in there, and made of fire. She felt dizzy, heavy, damp. She shivered regularly as if she was cold, but she was burning up. 

Alec was there. She was going to be okay. She forced herself to take a deep breath.

“You’re doing great,” Alec whispered next to her and looked at her. 

Izzy shot him a look. She managed to smile, her muscles shuddering a little. She was going to be okay. She swallowed heavily. She didn’t have to ask, Alec was already grabbing the lukewarm water bottle from the other bedside table and holding it to her mouth.

He helped her drink it. She didn’t immediately puke it out so she took it as a victory.

“Clary and Jace have told the Clave about the Angel and the Soul Sword,” Alec said, keeping her updated of the recent events. “It took a while to convince them to do it but it’s the best option for everyone.”

Izzy sighed softly. She imagined Clary’s arms crossed, the way she tilted her head from time to time, setting her jaw and glaring daggers when someone said something she didn’t like and didn't want to admit was right. She imagined Jace sighing heavily and planning to go behind Alec’s back. Then, Alec would send him his ‘don’t even think about it’ look, and Jace would sigh again, but listen.

“Good,” she croaked.

Exhaustion hit her suddenly. Her eyes felt heavy and they stung a little. The fever and the tremors had briefly subsided. She knew they’d be back sooner than she wanted.

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” she muttered. “Go work, don’t worry about me.”

Alec leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, even if she was gross. He tucked her in. Izzy fell asleep before she felt the mattress shift as he stood up.

\----------------------------

Amélie stumbled, falling against the wall for the third time in the last five minutes. She was so hungry she wanted to scream. She’d screamed herself hoarse already, in the earth of her grave. She knew she was dead, she could feel it, and yet…. Yet she was walking back to her hotel.

Black dress torn and blonde hair matted with dirt, she probably looked like a nightmare, or a character from a horror movie. She remembered the club and the hot blonde guy. She remembered the fear and the people standing there. The body on the floor.

She wanted to puke. She had nothing in her stomach either. 

Everything hurt so much. Every single light on the streets, the headlights from cars and the noises of traffic. They blinded her, hurt her, a headache pounding her head. 

New York was supposed to be great. She wasn’t supposed to die. She was supposed to just enjoy herself and go back home and be okay.

She pushed herself up, her body shivering as she kept walking. She was barefoot. She kept hurting her feet on glass shards on the ground but the wounds kept healing. 

She didn’t understand what was happening and she was terrified.

She reached the end of the alleyway. 

A car passed by, headlights burning her eyes. She groaned in pain, raising her hand up to cover her eyes. She didn’t know what time it was, but there were very few people around. 

She kept walking through the street.

Her footsteps led her under a construction scaffolding, and her eyes read over the name of the building.  _ Hotel Dumort.  _ She huffed. That was a gloomy name. If she ever went back to New York, which was already unlikely considering she’d been so horribly attacked, she would be careful not to book a room there. Hotel of the Dead. A shiver ran down her back.

She was passing under the scaffolding and had almost reached the end of it when a door opened to her right. A petite, dark-haired Asian woman came out of it, speaking loudly in English with the androgynous person that walked behind her. 

Amélie stopped walking, and started staring at them, unable to look away. They were different from everyone she had seen since she’d woken up. She didn’t want to eat them. That was most of what differentiated them from the rest of the people she’d seen beforehand. 

“ _ S’il vous plait _ ,” Amélie begged. Her voice was croaky and raw and it was enough for the Asian woman to turn around. “ _ Aidez-moi. Qu’est-ce qui m’arrive? _ ” 

“Fuck, that looks like a fledgling” the Asian woman said. She turned to the person who had accompanied her out. “Go get someone who speaks French. Mine’s way too rusty for this.” 

They nodded and ran back into the building.

“ _ Ça va aller _ ,” the woman said slowly and Amélie swallowed. Her accent was heavy. “ _ Nous allons chercher une personne _ .” 

Eventually, the androgynous person came back with a woman whose hair was not blonde, but neon yellow. Amélie blinked. The color was almost painful to look at.

“ _ Tu es française? _ ” Neon-yellow girl asked. She still had an accent but it was much lighter than the other woman’s. 

Amélie nodded. “ _ Oui. J’ai trop faim. Qu’est-ce qui se passe? _ ” 

“ _ Rentre avec nous, on va te donner à manger. Tu es en sécurité, je promets _ ,” neon-yellow girl said softly, and guided Amélie into the building. She turned to the two others. “She’s hungry and doesn’t understand what’s going on. She looks like a recent Turn.” 

“I’ll go get Raphael while you give her some food,” the Asian woman replied, and she and her companion disappeared into a corridor, as Amélie was led to a pair of metallic gold couches.

\-------------------------------

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since she’d told Alec, three weeks since she’d decided that she needed to stop using yin fen. Three weeks since they’d lost all track of Valentine. 

Isabelle knew that Alec, Jace and Clary were working tirelessly to get information on where Valentine was and what his plans were with the Soul Sword, now that the Angel he'd captured was free. 

She should have been there with them, she thought. She should have been with Jace and Clary, on their side as they faced the most beautiful being she could imagine. She couldn’t believe that they had seen an Angel. And more than that, they had touched him. 

She’d noticed the white discolorations on their palms, a physical mark of their contact with Ithuriel. They’d been  _ blessed.  _ Izzy could have been too, had she not been so  _ weak. _

She laid on her bed, staring at her unblemished palm. Her wrist was trembling slightly. It was almost constant, since she’d stopped taking yin fen and had been through the hardest part of the withdrawal. A part of her thought she’d died during that, from the pain, the heat, the lack of water, food and sleep.

She was still pale from it, exhausted from it, even weeks later. Her body was still not… right. She’d gotten used to how focused everything was when she was on yin fen. It was made of vampire venom and gave her clearer mind, senses, and strength. She felt heavy and weak without it carrying her body. She felt slow too.

Slow and weak. Unworthy to be in the presence of an Angel. She shifted in her bed. She was so tired. 

Alec had been trying to get her back on a hunt but she wasn’t ready. She knew she should though. She had heard them earlier, two Shadowhunters, a field soldier and a tech agent, talking in hushed voices as she walked by.  _ She hasn’t done anything useful in weeks and no one’s saying anything. Fucking Lightwood getting everything she wants.  _

These people couldn’t know what she felt like. They couldn’t know that her entire body ached whenever she was too active too suddenly. They couldn’t know that she walked past Aldertree’s door and wanted to break it down and get to the yin fen. They couldn’t know, else her life would be over.

She sat up on her bed, the tremors of her wrist getting much worse suddenly. She felt warm, sweaty and heavy. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor. The floor was so far away, so uneven. It felt like it was going to slip away from under her. She needed something to steady herself. She needed yin fen. 

She blinked. One hint wouldn’t hurt. A tiny bit, just on her wrist so it would stop trembling. It wouldn’t hurt her. It would be okay, right? Yes.

She walked out of her bedroom, wearing training leggings and a sweatshirt, barefoot against the hardwood floor. The corridors were relatively empty. It was around noon, and she knew that many were in the cafeteria, or out working. Going to Aldertree’s office would be relatively easy. She was dressed somewhat for training, and people wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at that. 

Her footsteps were heavy. Her toenails still wore the ghost of the burgundy red nail polish she liked to put on them. She looked down. She felt dizzy and heavy, and she knew the yin fen would focus her and make her feel right. She needed it. 

She was walking very fast, too fast, her vision blurring in the edges. Within minutes, she was at a crossroads. 

If she walked to the right, she would cross the ops room and get to the administrative wing, where Aldertree’s office was. 

If she walked to the left, she would walk into the training room, where someone was probably training. 

She stopped herself, almost falling to the ground with how sudden it felt to stop. Maybe she’d been running. Maybe she’d just been walking very fast.

She looked at both options. Her entire body screamed at her to run to Aldertree’s office, and do anything necessary to get the relief she needed. A little voice inside her head told her that she could just walk to the training room, and punch the craving away. Even better, maybe someone could help her there.

She took a deep, painful breath and took a step forward. To the left. 

The training room resounded with the sound of two people training with blades. The metal of swords clanged together, both too loud and too far away. Izzy stumbled forward. Her vision was blurry. She didn’t know who those two people were, if she was going to get in trouble when they reported her strange behavior to Aldertree. 

She stood, her body leaning heavily against the doorway to the training room. She took another breath in, sucking in air that felt chilled. It was like breathing in the winter air, it was cold and stabbing needles into her lungs.

“Iz?” 

Jace’s voice resounded. Two swords clattered to the floor as someone rushed to her. 

Izzy saw flashes of blonde hair, mismatched eyes, red hair, and hazel-green eyes. Jace and Clary. They reached to her, hands cold against her body. Jace’s arm wrapped around her, and her feet left the ground.

The world was even blurrier as Jace hoisted her into his arms. Clary followed them as he carried her back to her bedroom, back to her bed. Izzy cuddled against her brother’s chest, taking in big breaths.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… She counted as she inhaled.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8… She counted as she exhaled.

Her breathing had stabilized by the time she was back on her bed. She sat up. The world was less blurry suddenly. Her wrist was still shaking. Jace got into bed with her, holding her to his chest tightly. He was cool and he was steady, and he helped the world get clearer.

Clary was there within minutes. She gave Jace a hair tie, so he could tie Izzy’s hair back, and held a glass of water to Izzy’s lips. The water tasted like wild berries. It was some of the sweetened, flavored bottled water that Izzy liked. The sweet taste, the coolness of it helped push the craving back.

They stayed like this for a long time, Izzy not knowing how long exactly. Clary held her hands gently, and helped her drink. Jace’s chest was strong behind Izzy’s back, and he held her up gently. His hands gently caressed her arms, comforting her.

Eventually, the craving subsided. It left her exhausted, to the bone. She barely registered as Jace and Clary discussed who would stay with her. Boots hit the ground. She was gently pushed until she was laying on her left side. She felt Clary get into bed with her, pulling the covers over both of their bodies. 

Jace turned and pulled shut the curtains over the windows of Izzy’s bedroom, before walking out of the room and shutting the door. Clary settled behind Izzy, spooning her from behind, one arm over Izzy’s waist. Calm, safe, exhausted, Izzy fell into a dreamless sleep.

\----------------

Simon recognized the girl just as he walked into the main living room of the Hotel Du Mort. She had blonde hair and a thin, triangular face. She was the girl that Kenneth Nelson had drunk from while he, Raphael, and eventually Jace, fought their way out of  _ Le Peuple Oublié.  _

Raphael and Lily Chen were standing next to the bar, looking over at the girl every once in a while. Simon had gotten to know Lily, Raphael’s second-in-command, over the course of the last couple of months. She had dark hair, was Chinese, and he had grown to like her quite a bit. 

The blonde girl sitting on one of the couches was deep into conversation with another woman with neon-yellow hair. Simon remembered her name to be Brandie. A strange name, and a somewhat strange person. 

“Her name is Amélie Musset,” Raphael explained, as Simon stopped next to him and Lily. “French tourist, she was turned almost three weeks ago by Kenneth Nelson.” He said. “She’s not the only one. There have been maybe five others since then. Three that have found their way to the Du Mort.” 

Lily sighed heavily. “The two others are either in Nelson’s clan, or roaming out there freely. We can’t ignore it for much longer, one of them will end up crossing paths with a team of Shadowhunters and the Clave will know.” 

Simon swallowed. “What does that mean?”   
Raphael looked somewhat annoyed as he looked at him. “It means it’s war. We either kill him, or manage to get him captured, thrown in a coffin in the cells, and we absorb his clan within ours.” 

Simon didn’t know if he liked the idea of Nelson’s followers being in the clan. He didn’t want to judge them all, but he had the feeling they were all assholes, just like Kenneth was.

“We can't wait until they come to us. We have to flush him out,” Lily sighed. “If every single one of Camille’s followers are still with him, we will be pretty evenly matched. If he has Sired too many fledglings, we’re fucked.”

Brandie, the neon-yellow-haired girl, walked away from Amélie for a moment, going to them. “According to her, Nelson changed headquarters. They’re in Calvary Cemetery in Queens. They’re using the cemetery to bury fledglings.”

Simon checked the time. It was 9pm. Night had fallen barely an hour ago. They had until 5am to take care of this. The window was incredibly short, but he guessed it was the only way.

“So what do we do?” 

“We grab our stakes, we grab our people, and we attack,” Lily explained.

“And we try not to die,” Raphael added. 

Simon swallowed. That sounded like one hell of a bad plan. He understood why Raphael and Lily wanted to end it as soon as they could, but Simon couldn’t help but feel like someone was going to die.

Lily and Brandie left the two of them alone, grabbed Amélie and walked deeper into the hotel. Simon heard them waking up vampires left and right, preparing for battle. He looked over at Raphael.

Raphael’s face was frozen in a serious mask. He looked resolute, and Simon felt a bit better at the sight of him. Maybe everything was going to be okay and they were not going to all die. Raphael’s eyes crossed his and Simon shifted, uncomfortable of his own staring. 

“You can leave,” Raphael whispered. “If you want, if you’re afraid, run now.” His voice was a little hoarse. “You have a family, unlike most of us. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

It was the first time that Raphael wasn’t pushing Simon to be part of the clan’s every activity. It was the first time he was letting him out. Simon guessed Raphael was scared too. 

“You have Rosa,” Simon said. “You’re not alone either.”

Raphael’s mask broke, cracks letting the fear and emotion in his eyes show. 

“Rosa… She doesn’t recognize me. Besides, it’s not like I’ll have much longer with her. It doesn’t count.”

Simon wanted to tell him it did count. But he knew what Raphael was doing. He was distancing himself. Raphael was the clan’s leader, and he was going to lead them into war, whether he had family or didn’t. He had to be the one to do it, he had to be the one to be willing to sacrifice everything for the clan.

But Simon wasn’t. And Raphael was giving him an out.

For a moment, Simon considered walking away. He considered going to see Maia and having a nice evening with her, and forgetting that his clan was fighting for their lives. He considered looking away and moving forward. It would have been the smart, surviving choice. Selfish maybe, but people did selfish things to survive. 

Simon wasn’t like that. He hadn’t been raised to be selfish, he’d been raised to be righteous, and to be supportive of his community. This wasn’t the great of Am Yisrael, but it was his clan. It counted anyway. He was a vampire now, whether he wanted it or not.

“I’m not leaving,” Simon replied. “I’m part of this. Hell, I’m responsible for it. I’m there by your side until the end.” 

Raphael nodded, and Simon saw the gratitude in his eyes. For the first time, Simon felt truly part of the clan.

\------------------

_ Lucian blinked as the sun seemed to shine almost directly into his eyes. It was lunch break, and they’d decided to all spend it in the courtyard of the Academy. It was March, and it was the very first day where the sun felt like spring.  _

_ He was laying in the soft green grass, vibrant under the sun beams. It had rained nearly all winter and fall before that, and it made the landscape green like emeralds. The holster that held his stele and his seraph blade was a bit too tight around his thigh.  _

_ A brilliant burst of laughter resounded from his right, and he opened his eyes, rolling over to his side to observe his friends, his family. _

_ The one that was laughing was Jocelyn. Her hair was dark red and her eyes shone brightly, as Valentine muttered something against her ear. She sat in between her boyfriend’s legs, resting her back against his chest. She wore a dark grey t-shirt, her usual khaki pants, and strong combat boots. In one of her long-fingered hands, she held a sandwich, bits of cucumber threatening to come out of the sides of it. _

_ Valentine held her to him, grinning widely. His hair was thick and dark, high on his forehead and there was a light beard on his jaw. Lucian held a hand to his own jaw. He wasn’t growing hair there. _

_ Lucian sat up, looking around him. Sitting on the grass around them were Robert and Maryse, the Lightwood family ring looked heavy on Maryse’s finger. Robert had proposed days ago, and without any surprise, she’d said yes. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, larger than Jocelyn was. She was darker-skinned too, more golden than Robert, Jocelyn or Valentine. Her double-edged axe rested in the grass next to them.  _

_ Blonde, thin, staring at Valentine like he was Raziel himself, Hodge munched on his sandwich, sitting a bit farther from the core of the group. He was always serious and adoring of Valentine, even more so than half of the bigger friends group, the ones that weren’t important enough to be included in this small gathering. _

_ “Look around,” Valentine called out eventually, after he’d stopped teasing Jocelyn.  _

_ Lucian perked up looking over at his parabatai. He looked glorious in the sunlight, and maybe Hodge was right to stare at him like he was an Angel incarnate.  _

_ “Look at us, this is where we belong. In a world without demonkind, in the safety of the walls built by Nephilim. Sacred ground,” he added, touching the grass. “And hallow sky. If I stare hard enough, it feels like I can see right into the realm of the Angels.”  _

_ Lucian sighed, staring up where Valentine was looking. Maybe indeed, amongst the rare clouds, he could see Angels.  _

Luke blinked. His face was pressed against his desk, old pictures of Cleophas littering it. He’d fallen asleep there while working, his body now ached with the terrible position he’d spent the night in. 

His dream had brought back a memory from the Academy. A memory of when things still felt right, when his relationship to Valentine was still good. He didn’t remember if it had changed suddenly or slowly, but he knew that that beautiful early spring day, everything had been okay.

It wasn’t the case anymore. And now Valentine had Luke’s sister with him, prisoner. It made little sense to Luke why he would have taken Cleophas, but it didn’t really surprise him. After all, Valentine had always been vicious and cruel, even when they'd been young.

He looked over the map of New York that he’d stabbed colored pins into, in the locations of Valentine’s latest known lairs. They were relatively far from each other, even if, every time, they were close to a waterway.

There were many buildings that were forgotten about and close to waterways, however. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

_ Sacred ground.  _ Valentine had always loved Alicante, had always loved that it kept away Downworlders. He’d always praised the glory of Institutes and warded off buildings built by the Nephilim. 

Maybe… maybe Luke could start there. Maybe he could just look through the Clave-owned properties of the area, and hope that Valentine was, for once, predictable. Though it wasn’t as predictable as it could be, since very few people had been close enough to him to know the details of his likings.

Maybe for once, being Valentine’s parabatai could bring Luke some sort of advantage. 

Luke grabbed his phone, dialing Clary’s number. She picked up after the second tone, curious and tired-sounding. Luke checked the time. He’d woken up much earlier than he should have, and he’d probably woken her up too.

“Sorry,” he said. “Could you, when you have access to it, check for clave-owned properties, state-wide?” 

\----------------

The cemetery was quiet. Simon hadn’t expected anything different, but he guessed it was a relief. It smelled like freshly turned earth, and bodies decomposing. He could smell that, now that he was a vampire , and he was incredibly unhappy about it. 

It made him want to puke, and there was nothing in his stomach but blood, so that would be absolutely disgusting. Maybe he also wanted to puke because he was walking with a group of vampires to fight a rival group of vampires, maybe to the death. That was definitely terrifying enough to make him want to puke.

Raphael was walking slightly in front of Simon. On Raphael’s right was Lily, her dark hair held up in a ponytail , with a big, pointy stake in her hand. Next to Simon was Brandie. Her hair was hidden under a baseball cap that read “Sex Instructor: First Lesson”. Her hair dye was somehow designed to glow in the dark, and she had to hide it.

Simon didn’t know if Brandie’s smile was reassuring. She was always joyous, but right now, it was too big, and it was very obviously forced. She looked over at him, feeling him staring, and he saw her eyes filled with fear.

Behind him, he could hear Amélie, the young French tourist that Kenneth had turned mutter something in French under her breath.

Simon wondered if Raphael was the only one of them that wasn’t afraid, but he knew better. He knew Raphael was just like them. He felt small, and useless, and like he couldn't help anyone.

They walked forward, towards a tall mausoleum. 

“These ones got money,” Brandie mumbled to Simon’s left and he nodded.

The stones were set together perfectly, fitting almost seamlessly. It was taller than the other ones. Next to the walls was a tall cross, complete with a four-feet tall wooden carving of Jesus. Simon couldn’t help but shudder at seeing the figure laying on the ground. 

The smell of blood in the air got thicker and thicker as they approached the mausoleum. 

“They probably desecrated the mausoleum before settling there,” Raphael pointed out. “Nothing like sex and a blood sacrifice to do that.” He sounded utterly disgusted. 

The mausoleum and the cemetery were so silent that Simon knew Kenneth’s clan was waiting for them. Else they would have been talking, and living their undead lives. He guessed Raphael knew it too, because he shushed everyone and gestured for them to get ready.

The last time Simon had been in a fight with vampires, he’d been rescued by a Shadowhunter and had run away before the fight could be over. They were probably going to be outnumbered now, and Simon might die.

Under his breath, he recited the  _ Viddui _ for himself. There was no need for the healing of  _ Mi Sheberakh _ right now anyway. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Kenneth’s clan appeared and attacked. They fell onto them like bats in an old-timey supernatural movie. Simon shook off the heavy weight of a man that had landed on his back, and they got to fighting. 

He couldn’t count them, really. For some reason, he thought that they were incredibly outnumbered, and maybe it gave them an edge. Raphael’s clan fought to the death, for survival and against terrible odds. Kenneth’s clan fought in the comfort of high numbers. Maybe that could help Simon’s people survive. 

Simon barely blinked as his stake found its way into a vampire's heart. 

Over and over, they fought. A silver blade found its way into Simon’s thigh, the pain blinding him for a short moment. He had never felt something like this before. He’d never really gotten hurt before. And now he let his instincts run his body, and tried to survive.

He killed three or four before the army of Kenneth’s clan got overwhelmed and started giving up.

It was over incredibly fast. Once the haze of the fight and instinct left him, and he was back to himself, he looked around the cemetery, taking in the sight of the bodies that had not been staked to disappearance. 

That was when he noticed them. One of the vampires was laying on the ground and he could hear the distress in the way they moved, and breathed. Whines of pain and anguish left their mouth regularly. Simon rushed to them.

It was horrible. Amélie, the fledgling that had given them all of the information about Kenneth, was laying on the ground, arms torn off at the shoulders, a wooden stake half protruding from her chest. It had missed her heart which was still beating, her flesh healing around the wood and trying to patch together her arms.

She groaned, gargled from where her throat had been cruelly cut, her eyes pleading for him to make it stop. 

Simon swallowed. “Raphael!” He called. Raphael didn’t come. He was busy taking down Kenneth and shackling him so he wouldn’t try to run away. Lily was by his side. 

The one that came was Brandie. Her cap was nowhere to be seen, and the parts of her hair that weren’t soaked with blood were glowing neon-yellow in the darkness. She rushed to him, sitting down by Amélie’s side and gently touching her head. 

“Poor baby,” she whispered, before looking up at Simon. 

“If we take the stake out, will she heal?” Simon asked. “Will she be okay?” 

Brandie looked down, observing the wounds. Her eyes when she looked up at Simon were sad and pained. She shook her head. Amélie tried to scream then, tried to struggle but she only coughed up more blood. 

Simon sighed heavily. He still had a stake in his hands. 

“Ça va aller, chérie,” Brandie whispered in French. “Ça va aller.” 

Simon wanted to run away, and wanted to puke, but he was frozen into place. He guessed it was all somewhat his fault. Now, he had to end it. 

Amélie was crying now, and Brandie looked at Simon. “You have to do it. She’ll be in too much pain if we try to keep her alive. It’s the only merciful way.” 

Simon grabbed at the stake. He didn’t sweat but the wood was damp with blood, making his hands stick to it. Brandie reached over and put her hand over Amélie’s eyes. 

Simon took a deep breath and drove the stake home. Hard. 

Amélie’s body convulsed, then disappeared in front of him. In the blink of an eye, it was over.

Simon and Brandie were both crying when they got onto their feet, and joined the rest of the celebrating clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 21 (title TBD)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	21. Doubt Truth to be a Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good day everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is another special one!
> 
> The title is from a Shakespeare quote: Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
> 
> Indeed, this chapter is all about love, and love is quite a battlefield. 
> 
> First kiss, first exchanges of terms of endearment, first time... Our main couples have a very packed and emotional schedule ahead!
> 
> While Jace and Luke go on a chase for Luke's sister. The beautiful fight scene in that scene was written mostly by my amazing beta, IndigoDream. 
> 
> All in all, this is an exciting chapter for me! I hope that you enjoy all of this!

Isabelle punched the punching bag, her entire body resounding with the strength of it. It had been over a month since she had started detoxing, and she felt much steadier than she had since her injury by Valentine’s hand. 

Clary was training next to her, repeating her kicks against her own punching bag. Her form was getting better and better every day. Isabelle was proud of her. Really proud. 

She’d always loved training new recruits, but there was something even more beautiful in training Clary. Maybe it was because of the magnetic pull she seemed to exert onto Izzy, maybe it was because she seemed to fit in the Shadow World so easily… Maybe it was something else entirely. 

Clary had been there for her the entire time, relaying with Alec and Jace to take care of her as she went through withdrawal and felt like she was dying. She’d been there to hold her, help her into showers and clean clothes, give her food and water… She’d been there to chase away the nightmares.

Izzy didn’t know what she would have done without her. In the last month, Clary had become a staple of Izzy’s life, a constant, even if she’d already been important. 

The sight of Clary made her heart skip a beat and she couldn’t help but stare at her. Clary was beautiful. She was slender, growing more and more into her muscles as she trained. She was different from most Shadowhunter women. 

The constant exercising and training Shadowhunter women went through in their teenage years changed their hormonal levels, stunting their puberty somewhat and changing the way their bodies developed. Izzy had, thankfully, inherited the curvier figure of her mother, but the majority of Shadowhunter women were tall, relatively flat-chested and narrow-hipped.

Clary’s breasts were a bit bigger than the average of what Izzy knew. And… Izzy had been staring at them a lot.

She’d always loved the shape of girls. It was incredibly pleasing, the way their bodies were different than boys, the ways clothing would fall on their hips differently. She liked their longer haircuts. She liked to stare at girls as they trained, even if it made her look away, flushed and confused. 

With Clary around, she was realizing more and more that her affection for girls wasn’t all platonic. She could stare for hours at women training or dancing, she felt her eyes drift to them indiscriminately. Though a lot of her fantasies included men, her mind often drifted to the way the women felt too. 

“You’re staring,” Clary chuckled, looking at her, face flushed by the effort, red hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.

Izzy looked away, blushing. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and turned her attention back to the punching bag.

She heard Clary step away from her punching bag and towards her. Izzy looked down, holding onto the leather, trying to compose herself. She closed her eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath. 

“I don’t mind… at all, actually,” Clary said, too close, suddenly.

Izzy opened her eyes. Clary’s shoes were right next to hers. She looked up from the floor, eyes raking over incredibly long legs in tight leggings, toned stomach, the Strength rune dark on pale skin, her sports bra and her chest that was heaving a bit more than if she’d been at rest. Flush skin, thin but inviting lips, smirking a little. Eyes that bore into Izzy’s, darker than usual. 

“I…” Izzy started, and stopped immediately.

Clary was close, too close, so close Izzy could feel the heat coming off of her body, could almost smell the sweat that made her skin shine. So close she could almost feel her breath on her lips.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” Clary whispered. “I’m so happy I have you in my life, Isabelle.”

The sound of her full name on Clary’s lips made a shiver run down her spine. 

Izzy couldn’t look away from her. She couldn’t stop staring at her lips either. She swallowed heavily. This felt… right. Her entire body buzzed with energy, with… desire. She recognized the feeling, she’d felt it before. She’d never felt it really like this with a woman. Or maybe she had. She didn’t have time to analyse her previous interactions with all women.

Izzy pushed herself forward. She’d never been afraid of being bold. And she knew Clary would wait for her to make the first move. She would respect her process. She knew this was new for her.

Clary’s lips tasted like sweat. It wasn’t sexy, and she was sticky and warm. Izzy closed her eyes and kissed her deeper. Clary’s hand settled on Izzy’s waist, holding her steady. Her rock. 

It was brief. It was chaste, and tentative, and within seconds, Izzy was moving back. 

“It’s okay if you’re not-”

Clary’s voice was cut when Izzy kissed her again. Hard. It was different this time. Izzy almost felt like crying. Clary kissed her back, breathless, pulling her closer in one swift motion. She was just as tall as Izzy, their bodies fitting together seamlessly. She could feel Clary’s breasts against hers, she could feel her stomach against hers. She could feel everything. 

They moved back after an eternity, just putting enough distance in between each other to take a deep breath. Izzy couldn’t keep herself from grinning, her muscles stuck in tugging her mouth up. It felt like fire in her veins. 

“I’ve never kissed someone while training before,” Clary chuckled, soft and beautiful and flustered. Her face was reddened by the kiss and the exercise. 

“How is it?” Izzy asked, voice breathless.

“It’s pretty fucking hot,” Clary replied, and reached up, pulling Izzy’s face closer and kissing her hard again. 

Izzy felt like she was floating. 

\---------------

Jace climbed into the car that was waiting for him a couple of blocks from the Institute. Luke was behind the wheel, buzzing with restless energy. He’d called on Clary a couple of weeks ago, asking for access to the list of Clave-owned properties in the state. Izzy had still been dealing with her withdrawal so Jace had taken care of it. And now here he was.

Luke was searching for his sister, wanted to free her from Valentine and what he could be doing to her now. Jace respected that. He would be willing to go to the end of the Earth for Izzy or Clary. 

He’d taken to calling her his sister much faster and much more passionately than he had expected to. He’d always craved a big family, he’d always wanted not to be the only one living with his father. He’d wished for a sibling. Now he had four of those, and he loved it. Even if it meant Valentine was his father. Even if it meant he was a Morgenstern. 

Luke went straight to the point. “I’ve been through all the ones that were within the city and some of the surrounding areas, but nothing. Either he’s expertly glamoured, or the buildings were just empty. What’s next on the list?” 

Jace took his phone out and opened the list. “Pollepel Island, on the Hudson River,” he read. “We’re around 60 miles away.”

Luke sighed, and turned onto FDR Drive, going uptown.

Jace shifted. He and Luke weren’t exactly friends. Before Clary had come into the Shadow World, they’d mostly seen each other when there were issues with the Pack, or when the Institute needed information from the local police department. 

Now that Clary was in Jace’s life, they’d seen each other around her, two sides of her life that wouldn’t truly fit together. And now they were going to be in a car together for over an hour, going on a somewhat suicidal journey to save Cleophas. 

Jace shot Luke a glance. What was it like to be in this situation? Luke’s face was closed, and it wasn’t like Jace could read him easily. They were incredibly different. 

Luke reached over to the radio station. When he turned it on, it was on a country music station that made Jace wince a little. It was a bit too loud. He wasn’t a fan of the radio, he didn’t know much about the current music. 

Valentine had taught him to play the piano, of course, but only some long-dead German composers, ones that he had made sure were not Downworlders. He hadn’t told Jace that then, but recently, Jace had gotten curious and searched through the Clave databases, and through mundane Google. None of them seemed to have a hint of demon blood in them. None of them had Angel blood either.

Were there artists in the Clave? Jace doubted there were any. None that did it because it was art, at least. Art wasn’t something that was appreciated. It was too… useless to the cause. Paintings and sculptures were only considered appropriate when they celebrated heroes of the Clave, or the myths of the Clave’s history. He’d seen thousands of versions of Jonathan Shadowhunter, a little less of David the Silent. Sister Abigail was much rarer. Maybe because she was a woman, maybe because she hadn’t wanted to pose for a painter… There was little to no record of what she might have looked like.

Jace imagined her as fair, of skin, hair and eyes, with hair like pale gold thread. In his mind, she would have a face that could be warm but never was, she was strong and heavier than most of the women he knew. Like a paler version of Maryse. With eyes that could go from hard to soft in a fraction of a second, and back just as quick. Hands strong and agile, made for fighting as well as forging adamas into weapons. 

Valentine had taught him all about Jonathan Shadowhunter, little about David or Abigail. The two others, the sister and parabatai of the First Shadowhunter, existed as dreams in Jace’s mind. He wondered, often, if they were still alive. 

“So what’s on Pollepel Island?” Luke asked after a while. They could only go as far as traffic went, following mundane rules. Jace wasn’t used to that. 

“An old Institute,” Jace replied. “When Shadowhunters first came to New York, they thought being a bit away from the mundane world was better than being inside the city. They quickly found out it wasn’t true, so they moved to where the Institute is now.” 

Luke sighed. “Of course Valentine would find an old Institute…” 

Jace raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Luke saw it and started explaining. “Valentine was always very… patriotic,” he sighed. “We should have seen the signs much earlier than we did. He liked to talk about the greatness of Shadowhunter architecture, of holy ground. He loved Alicante, because Downworlders were not allowed in.” 

Luke was using ‘Downworlders’. He’d seen Simon, Raphael Santiago and Maia Roberts many more times than before lately, and he’d noticed they never used that term. They used Shadow Kinds, or Shadow People. Downworlders seemed to be the Nephili terminology. 

Maybe Luke was still using the words he’d been raised with. Maybe he was just using the one Jace knew, adapting his vocabulary to him. Jace didn’t ask which it was. 

“You were his parabatai. That can cloud judgement,” Jace muttered. “If Izzy went berserk, I doubt Alec would be able to resist it.” 

Luke shook his head. “He might. Alec and Izzy seem to have a very healthy bond, an independant one. I didn’t really have that with Val. I was dependent on his abilities, and grateful that he’d let me elevate myself to his level. It wasn’t… right.” 

Jace nodded. He could understand that. He was glad he wasn’t anyone’s parabatai right now. Valentine’s upbringing had left not just scars but gaping wounds that he hadn’t managed to close yet. Only then might he be good enough for a parabatai bond. 

\---------------

Maia’s apartment was tiny, as would be expected for the apartment of a student and bartender. It was one open room with a small kitchen, a convertible couch, a coffee table and a bigger table pushed against one of the walls, and a small bathroom. It was a bit messy and the table was piled up with textbooks and novels.

Simon sat somewhat uncomfortably on the couch, looking as Maia prepared a mug of tea and a mug of warm blood. She’d told him she’d stolen some of the Hunter’s Moon blood supply so she could at least serve him something nice as he spent time over. 

It was all so casual. Simon wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t have enough experience dating to really know how it was supposed to go, though. And he was happy to be around Maia. 

She was sarcastic and funny and he really liked it when she smiled. Her eyes would get softer, less guarded when she laughed about whatever dorky thing they’d been talking about. She was smart too, in that incredibly attractive, biting way. She was studying Marine Sciences at Rutgers, mostly taking her classes online except for occasional labs or research trips.

The true passion when she talked about her studies made her shine brighter than many people Simon knew. He liked passionate people. Being around them was exhilarating. 

Maia turned around from the small kitchen and walked back to him. She handed him the mug. It had a purple octopus on the white china, with the turquoise-colored slogan ‘Seas the Day’. Simon grinned. It was adorable. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Maia chuckled. “It’s nothing. I wanted you to be comfortable.” 

They’d planned a  _ Doctor Who _ marathon, of the 2005 series. Simon leaned back against the couch and took a sip of the blood. It was nicer warm like this, almost like a thick hot chocolate in texture. He was getting used to it.

“Before we start…” Maia muttered, crossing one leg over the other and looking anywhere but at him. “We… I want to make sure you…”

Simon stayed silent, looking at her, encouraging her to speak. Whatever she wanted to say, he was here to hear it. 

Maia fidgeted with her mug. It was white china too, but the octopus was orange and the slogan read ‘Save the Seas’. She took a sip of the too hot tea and he saw her struggle with the burning feeling on her tongue.

“I… I’m not ready for an intense relationship right now. Gretel died three months ago and I…”

Simon chuckled. “I’m not gonna ask to move in right now,” he replied. “I get that you’re still learning to live without her being there all the time and… to be honest I have my own big changes to work on.” 

It wasn’t exactly the death of a loved one, but Simon was still dealing with his own death, his own Change and everything that came with it. Clary seemed to grow more and more distant, and he grew closer to his clan every day, especially after what had happened with Kenneth Nelson. 

He’d seen that man only once since July 19th, when they’d taken him down at the cemetery. He was now living in a very comfy casket, chained closed, in one of the cells of the Hotel Du Mort.

Maia exhaled in obvious relief. Her face relaxed and Simon could feel her entire body shifting as the weight of what she’d had to tell him dissipated from her shoulders. 

“I like you,” she admitted with a smile. “We should just take it slow. Watch movies and spend time together, and see where everything leads us.” 

Simon nodded. “That works perfectly for me.” 

Maia leaned back against the back of her sofa. She turned to her laptop and opened the first episode of the first season of the 2005 series: Rose.

“I like you too,” Simon said softly. “And we’ll go as slow as you want.”

Maia didn’t really reply. She looked down at the keyboard and hit play. Simon wondered what she was thinking, but she didn’t say it. 

She shifted, scooting closer to him on the sofa. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer. She sighed comfortably against him and Simon took a sip of the blood. This was one of the best days he’d spent since Clary’s birthday.

\----------------

Jace stepped onto the sand of Pollepel’s island beach. The cold water of the Hudson River lapped at his ankles above the sturdy leather of his combat boots. Luke had jumped into the river as well, as they pushed their canoe onto the sandbank. They’d chosen to arrive in a deserted area of the small island. 

The island was fairly empty as it was, with only one small manor house and the remains of Bannerman's Castle. From the screams of pain that were coming from the ruins, Jace and Luke knew that was where they would find Cleophas.

Valentine and his followers would probably be trying to break her and the ruins seemed to be where they kept prisoners. Jace checked for his seraph blade. It was attached firmly to his hip. Good. 

Under the cover of the trees that grew over most of the island, they slid towards the ruins. The screams got louder. It was nighttime and the trees and shrubs provided more coverage and shadows for them. 

Jace wondered if one of those voices was Cleophas’, but he didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell. He hoped not, he hoped that there wouldn’t be a lot of guards either. The less people they had to kill, the less mess they would make. He had no desire to end up back in front of Valentine.

He hadn’t seen him since he'd stolen the Soul Sword, and he had no desire to. Seeing him was… uncomfortable. The memories of the years Jace had spent in his father’s cabin, in the middle of Brocelind Forest, came back whenever Valentine talked or gestured. His voice was different but his tone, inflections, pronunciation? They were all his father.

Jace struggled to hate him, he really did. No matter what he’d done to him, he was still his dad. Jace swallowed as they reached the walls of the old castle. 

It was an old-world style castle, run down by years left without inhabitants. Its stones were grey and coral, almost too colorful compared to what Jace imagined castles to be like, grey and beige and white. It seemed that metallic poles were being used to keep the walls from crumbling too.

Valentine was really desperate for hallowed ground, else he would have chosen somewhere more… practical? In better shape? Better than this, anyway. 

They slid against the walls, walking quietly towards what seemed to be a flight of stairs going down to some underground levels. A group of Circle members were sitting around an electric stove and making what smelled like sausages. Luke and Jace took advantage of their hunger, which made them distracted and not pay attention to the entrance to the underground cells, to start walking down the stairs.

It was humid and dirty down there. It smelled like death, blood and feces and Jace couldn’t help but feel a little nauseous. It was like wild animals were dying here. It was… horrible.

Luke took out his sword, and swallowed heavily. His sister was prisoner down there. He would kill anyone in his way. He knows Jace will understand his actions. Jace would go insane if he knew Clary or Izzy were trapped in this place. 

At the end of the stairs, a Circle member was waiting, probably on the lookout for anyone incoming. He was looking a bit irritated before he caught sight of Jace and Luke, and then surprise took over his face. Luke didn’t give him the time to gather himself and warn anyone else; his sword went through him with ease. Jace knew he had been a shadowhunter once, and the precision in the movements of the werewolf were a testament to that. 

Jace didn’t think more of it though, they had other matters to attend to. Four men were in the corridor separating two rows of cells on each side, two at the entrance and two at the end, where another exit, narrower than the stairs had been, was.

They couldn’t properly stand together, the corridor was too narrow for that, and when Jace reached them, he knew this would play to Luke and his advantage. The four men couldn’t attack the two of them at once, and they would have to split to fend off both Jace and Luke. Luke especially was broader than Jace, and as he followed Jace, it would assuredly help. 

Jace hit the first guard, first slashing at his head and then whipping around his seraph blade to hit him with the pommel of it in the throat. Sliding in between the space his weakened opponent left in between him and the next guard, Jace kept moving. 

It wasn’t his greatest fight by far, but it was quick and dirty. Blood spilled in splatters on the ground, sometimes hitting Jace when he buried his blade in the heart of the third Circle member. The noise of the fighting was sure to have brought more attention than he was really comfortable with, but the corridor was narrow and the cells deep enough that it would take at least a couple of minutes for other people to reach them. 

“Jace,” Luke called out as Jace killed the last guard with a quick stab through the throat, efficient, “You see her?” 

Jace looked around in the cells nearby him, trying to find Luke’s sister. He remembered her as this strong woman, with a standing in a room that immediately called attention to her, and it took him a few seconds to realize the curled up figure in the second to last cell was Cleophas. 

She moved to the opening, and there was still this eeriness about her that he had thought was due to her being an Iron Sister. She was as tall as Luke, and equally as broad, and the family resemblance struck Jace even more in the moment. Even imprisoned, she was majestic. 

“Got her,” he called back, and Luke reached him with keys in his hands. 

Cleophas seemed so relieved at seeing her brother that Jace felt the need to move away. He went back to the stairs and heard the muffled rumble of people gearing back up. They needed to go, and fast. 

He moved back to the siblings and pushed Luke slightly. “We gotta go!” 

Luke nodded and, with an arm around his sister’s torso to help her as she left the cell, walked to the other exit. Hopefully, it would take them out of the castle and back in the woods, where they would have more coverage. 

As they reached the exit, Jace saw a man running down the stairs and in the corridor. He swore under his breath, and Luke turned his head around, seeing the new threat. 

“I can walk on my own,” Cleophas told them, and grabbed the seraph blade of one of the dead on the floor.

Jace didn’t question her, he let Luke run ahead quickly, let Cleophas go behind him, and killed the man as he reached him. More were rushing down the stairs, and Jace swore again, running behind Luke and Cleophas. 

The tunnel wasn’t too long thankfully, and took them to a small entrance where broken stones marked a decayed building. It had probably been some kind of guard’s room before it fell down, Jace thought briefly, before continuing running. 

Luke and Cleophas were fighting off two Circle members as Jace emerged from the tunnel, and they had killed them by the time Jace joined them. The woods weren’t too far, and they ran there quickly, taking coverage behind bushes and trees as they ran back to the water. 

Behind them, shouting could be heard. Jace focused back to running. They had finished what they had set out to do, and now they just had to get back to New York.

  
  


\------------

  
  


Magnus’ body was warm against Alec’s, his lips soft against his. Magnus’ body temperature was a bit hotter than his, he’d found out. He really enjoyed it. He enjoyed pretty much everything when it came to being with Magnus, when it came to making out in bed shirtless like this. 

Alec couldn’t explain how warm he felt inside, a warmth that had little to do with actual temperature. Right now, everything was somewhat okay. No one was dying, none of his family members were hurting and everything was… fine. Enough of a peaceful balance to make him relax in Magnus’ arms.

His fingers traced down Magnus’ back. On the very rare times he’d let himself imagine being with a man, he’d imagined runes marking his lover’s body. He looked at Magnus now, and he didn’t miss them, not even for a second.

Magnus was perfect. It made heat ignite in Alec’s groin, in Alec’s veins, made him want to touch him for hours, made him wonder what it’d be like to make love to him. 

What did Magnus sound like? What did he feel like, under or over Alec? What was it like to be with a man like  _ that _ ? 

Alec had heard about first times. He’d heard almost all of Izzy and Jace’s. He knew his would probably be different. He didn’t really care. It just meant that he didn’t have a plan. Alec liked plans. 

Magnus’ hand was in his hair. Alec’s hand was on Magnus’ hip, fingers playing with the edge of Magnus’ lounge pants. 

Alec deepened the kiss slightly, leaning over to push Magnus to lie back onto the bed. Magnus let himself go without a care in the world. He smiled against Alec’s lips, hands caressing Alec’s bare sides freely. 

Magnus was so soft, carefree about his touches. They weren’t urgent, they weren’t hard, they were… he touched him like they had forever to love each other. It made Alec want him even more. Magnus’ relaxed attitude in bed was so comfortable.

And yes. They had time. This wasn’t a stolen moment in a locked room, in a closet, where people could ask questions. This wasn’t a moment that was heated and forbidden. Alec was allowed to take his time. And so was Magnus. 

No one would walk in. No one would punish them for this. Everything was right. 

Alec grinned widely against Magnus’ lips, pulling back for a moment.

“Well, someone’s happy,” Magnus whispered, breathing harder than before, eyes blinking up at him happily. He looked so content.

Alec grinned still, unable to stop himself. “I am happy,” he replied. 

Magnus’ hands caressed up and down his back now. Alec was resting on his elbows, leaning over Magnus longingly. Their bodies were flush from waist down, one of Alec’s legs in between Magnus’, and... and it was… just so perfect. 

The way Magnus looked right now, resting against the golden silk pillowcases, dark hair messy because of their make out session, eyes soft and teasing… Alec couldn’t stop staring at him. This was his boyfriend. 

“I want you,” Alec whispered after a moment of just looking at Magnus with that stupid grin he couldn’t get rid of. 

Magnus’ eyes went wide, his smile accentuating. “Really?”

Alec couldn’t keep back the short laugh. “You look very surprised to be wanted, for someone who probably is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.” 

Magnus chuckled, hands travelling down to grab Alec’s ass. Alec bit his lip. Magnus’ eyes shone with mirth. 

“Do you want me?” Alec asked after a moment. “Tell me.” 

Magnus inhaled sharply then, eyes changing from soft and teasing to much more… intense. “Yes. Very much so.” 

Alec grinned and leaned back in, capturing Magnus’ lips in a searing kiss. Magnus kissed him back, pressing his body up against Alec’s, grabbing him much more intensely now. Alec’s head swam with affection, with want. 

It grew hotter by the second, Magnus’ kiss harder and more biting suddenly. Alec groaned as Magnus moved, his body rubbing against his. 

Suddenly, it was as if a switch had been flicked and Alec felt the heat rise. He reached down for the strings that kept Magnus’ pants fastened at the hips. Magnus’ breathing got a bit harsher then. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Magnus…” Alec whispered, starting to kiss down Magnus’ neck. He’d wanted to kiss him there, at his Adam's apple, on that strong golden neck, basically since the first day he’d met him. 

He was starting to try to give him a hickey - because he absolutely loved the mental image he had of Magnus with a hickey - when suddenly, Magnus pushed him back. 

Alec sat up, putting distance in between them immediately. Magnus’ hand was clasped on his eyes. Was he crying? Had he done something wrong? He swallowed. He didn’t know what to do now. He was sitting up, and Magnus’ leg was still in between his, and Alec’s hard-on was softening by the second as he thought through everything he could have done wrong.

“Babe?” Alec asked softly. “Magnus, are you okay?” 

Magnus was breathing heavily. He was so very still now. Alec could hear his own heart beating so loudly in his chest. 

“I need a moment,” Magnus whispered after a while. “I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I know you’ve been wanting this and I…”

Alec shrugged. “I can wait. This is… this is the two of us. This isn’t just about me. I don’t want to do anything you’re not okay with,” he pointed out. “But… just tell me what I did wrong?”

Magnus’ chuckle was bitter. His hand was still on his face. “Nothing wrong,” he replied. “Much to the contrary, actually.” 

Alec frowned slightly. “Then… what’s happening?” 

He gently touched Magnus’ arm, the one that was holding his hand to his face now. Magnus swallowed heavily. 

His voice was hoarse and angry when he replied. “I’m losing control. Almost 400 years old, and… and I’m losing control because you’re undressing me.” He shook his head, that chuckle shaking his body slightly. 

“Whatever it is… I don’t care,” Alec pointed out. “You know that.” 

They stayed like that, Magnus laying there mostly naked, hand covering his eyes, Alec mostly naked too, waiting for him. And… and then he started moving.

It was hesitant. His fingers started opening a little, and slowly, he removed his hand from his face. 

Alec had gotten used to Magnus’ dark brown eyes, the pools of darkness and softness that he couldn’t keep himself from falling into. Magnus was now looking back at him with completely different eyes.

They were golden, a warm gold, not the cold yellow one Alec had seen before in some of Izzy’s jewelry. They were… uncomparable. Alec couldn’t breathe. Magnus blinked, slowly, and then Alec noticed his pupils. They were slits, like a cat’s. 

“Your warlock mark,” Alec breathed.

Magnus sighed shakily. “I’m sorry.”

Alec almost laughed. “For what? No, wow, they are…” Incredible, mind-blowing, magical… “Beautiful. So beautiful.” He muttered, leaning a little closer, staring into Magnus’ eyes. 

Magnus inhaled deeply, and his smile started to come back to his beautiful face. Alec couldn’t hold back his awe. He was gorgeous. His eyes were… so soft and fearful too, and Alec hated that he was afraid. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you lose control of your glamor,” Alec mumbled, words rushing out as he leaned down to cup his cheek. “Please, don’t feel… it’s…” He was losing his words.. 

Magnus chuckled at that, relaxing visibly on the bed. “You’re forgetting how to speak, Alexander.”

Alec grinned. “If you were a tiny bit less gorgeous, it would be easier for me to form sentences.” He replied. 

Magnus’ smile was beaming now. “Do you still want me?” He asked. 

Alec nodded several times. Absolutely. So much. “Oh yes.”

Magnus grinned, reaching up and bringing him down on him. Alec huffed a little, but immediately kissed him hard. Magnus’ smile was so relaxed now. And he was so gorgeous. Within seconds, the heat was back, and Alec pushed down Magnus’ pants, before starting to take off his own sweatpants. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 22 (Love is a Devil, Part 1)  
>    
> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	22. Love Is A Devil Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is back into the actual 2x08 episode, with part 1 of the Love is a Devil ep!
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy this!

Izzy stalked around the prep table, heels clicking on the floor of the ops room as she made her rounds. It was a habit of hers when she was thinking and needed to let out some restless energy, and it had gotten especially accentuated as she progressed into her recovery.

It had been two months since she’d told Alec, two months since she’d decided to stop taking yin fen and go through withdrawal. It had been torture, and Izzy sometimes still had the cravings and the wrist tremors, but she was much better now. 

“So you and Clary, huh?” Alec asked, looking over at Izzy. Izzy looked up at him, struggling to hold in a smile.

It was brand new. The kind of brand new that gave her butterflies and made her so incredibly afraid of breaking it. She wasn’t great at relationships. She’d never really tried to be good. And all of this… Sexuality thing. Kissing women was different than kissing men. And Clary was far from Aline.

She barely remembered Aline’s kiss and her lips, but she remembered the awkwardness of kissing her best friend. She remembered the sheets of Aline’s bed in the Penhallow Manor and staying over. The long nights spent together talking about training, and boys and Aline’s early discovery that she preferred girls.

“I… It’s brand new,” Izzy whispered. “I have no idea what it… means.” 

Alec shrugged. “It doesn’t have to  _ mean  _ anything.” 

Izzy chuckled. “It’s easy when you know,” she pointed out. “And when there’s only one factor. I still like men.” 

Alec hummed carefully, looking around at the people passing by. “Magnus calls that ‘bisexual’. You should talk to him about it. There’s much more out there than just gay, and straight. I like queer.”

Izzy tried the word on her lips for a moment. Queer. That was alright. Bisexual was different. It was all different. Maybe she could ask Aline. Or Magnus. Or both. She guessed they both had very different experiences of not being straight. She nodded at Alec.

She was about to reply when a voice resounded into the corridor. “Hey, you guys!”

Max came running into the room. Izzy hadn’t seen him in what felt like years. She’d been through so much since then, pain and heartbreak and yin fen. He had grown up a lot, of course. Children grew up so fast. 

“Hey, buddy!” Alec exclaimed, voice loud and happy in a way that made Izzy feel warm inside. He turned toward Max, arms opening from where they’d been tucked behind his back in his usual soldier rest pose. “How are you doing?” 

Alec had been more relaxed as well. His relationship with Magnus was blossoming in multiple ways, and it seemed like both Izzy and Alec’s lives were going pretty well, despite the threat of Valentine. 

“Max!” Izzy grinned, getting down on one knee to hug her brother tightly. “I missed you so much! You look so handsome.”

Hugging him made all of her cares slip away. It was wonderful and for a moment, she forgot what it meant to have Max there. He was only twelve and there was no way he was there by himself.

“What are you doing here?” Izzy asked. She felt Alec tense next to her as she looked up and followed his gaze.

Walking calmly from the permanent portal to Idris that was in the Institute’s hallway, Maryse was coming towards them. Her hair was looser than usual but she was still very stern. She looked sad as well. Izzy pushed the thought away. Her mother always looked somewhat sad or disappointed when they were in the same room.

“Alec,” Maryse nodded at her son, then turned to Izzy. “Isabelle. It's good to see you both.”

Izzy swallowed hard. Was it? Maryse’s voice was cold and quiet, the way she always talked to them. She hated it. She wanted to run and hide from the judgement she could already feel dripping from her voice; Maryse’s eyes scanned her quickly and it was enough for her to lose her cool. 

“Really?” Izzy snapped. '”Cause the last time you were here, you turned your back on all of us. Especially Jace.”

They both remembered her looking away as they were taken down to the cells for even trying to get their brother back safely. She remembered the betrayal of it. How she had turned away from them, when she was supposed to protect them. 

Her shoulder ached suddenly as she shifted and Izzy looked down. Her wrist wasn’t shaking. Good. 

Maryse stood behind Max, her hands on his shoulders. Max was the one of the three that looked the least like Maryse. Instead, he looked like Robert. Izzy and Alec had inherited her dark hair and eyes, and even some of her complexion.

“I was following orders,” Maryse replied, her voice almost stunted. It was mechanical and wrong, like she was tired of even explaining herself, when she hadn’t even said sorry. “I had no choice,” she finished. She took a deep breath and looked down at Max. “Max has some big news. Tell them, sweetheart.”

Max looked up happily at them and Izzy forced herself to look away from her mother and her obvious attempt at derailing the conversation, the uncomfortable topic of her own shortcomings. 

"I passed my last trial,” Max grinned. “I'm ready for my Rune Ceremony.”

Izzy felt her smile widen at that. Max was getting his Rune Ceremony. He was going to be part of the army soon, fighting alongside them. She grinned at him. She was so incredibly proud of him.

“Congratulations,” Alec chuckled. 

Izzy looked at him. “So you finally perfected your roundhouse kick?” She shifted, putting herself in a loose boxing position, both hands raised high to cover her chest.

“Yeah,” Max exclaimed, looking at her, mirroring her position. “And I knocked out two different instructors.” They fist bumped. Izzy was so proud of her little brother. He was growing up so strong, so successful in his studies. 

Maryse looked at Alec, and addressed him, seemingly not caring about the childish things Izzy and Max were doing. “Sadly, your father won't be able to attend,” she said sternly. “So, Alec, as the eldest male in the family, you will be in charge of Max's ceremonial party.”

Izzy straightened back up and stared at her. “What do you mean he won't be here?” 

Maryse sighed heavily. “He's tied up with the Valentine task force in Idris.”

Right. He was probably explaining all of the horrible things he and Maryse had done while they were in the Circle. That, or it was some sort of great excuse. Because Robert wouldn’t miss this. He’d not missed Alec’s, or Izzy’s Rune Ceremonies. She remembered it like it was yesterday, the formal dress and the burn she’d felt was horrible, the stele held by the papery, boney hand of a Silent Brother. Alec had looked over at her with even more pride than Maryse could muster, she thought.

“I can't believe Dad would miss this,” Izzy whispered. It was just… not like him. Out of the two of them, Robert wasn’t the one that missed important things because work was more important to him.

“He doesn't have a choice,” Maryse replied, colder, almost snapping at her. “We're all on high alert, especially after what that demon did to both of you... and Jocelyn.” She said, looking at Alec.

Alec shifted at that. He was still uncomfortable when it came to talking about what the demon had forced him to do. Izzy felt the shame and guilt radiating from him as their mother reminded him of what he’d done. He’d raised his arm against another Naphil, and she knew a part of Alec thought he should be killed for it. That was what they had been told, after all. The Nephilim that took arms against their brothers were worse than Downworlders and demons, and were to die as such, with a seraph blade in the heart.

“None of you were there at the Rite of Mourning,” Izzy replied sharply. “I guess you didn’t want to remind everyone that you knew the Morgensterns very tightly before Jocelyn ran away and turned her back on you.” 

Maryse looked at her with pain and heaviness in her gaze, something Izzy had never seen in her mother. She rolled her eyes, grazing Alec’s arm with her hand before walking away from the rest of them. 

“Isabelle!” Her mother called after her and Izzy rolled her eyes. That would probably be the first time Maryse ran after her and cared about anything she was saying. 

\--------------------

The door of the loft slammed shut and Magnus looked up at the clock, surprised. The arms of it read 3pm, which was an odd hour for Alec to come. He usually came around after work, or early in the morning, depending on his shifts. 

This unusual hour of visit made Magnus’ brow arc. He put down the grimoire he was holding, more carefully than he would a non-magical book. He had the tendency to throw on the ground any item he was done with and having his magic take care of the rest. He’d learned the hard way that grimoires and magically-charged items were not to be handled that way.

He’d spent a week with purulent blisters on most, if not all over his body. That was particularly gross and painful and he also had no desire to show his boyfriend of four months a body covered in pus. Maybe Alec would accept him, warlock mark and all, but his entire body covered with blisters was much more gross.

He heard footsteps coming down the small hallway and into his study, and looked up at Alec with a grin. It was unusual not to see him tired, either from waking up early or from spending the day working. It suited him, and Magnus knew he would really enjoy Alec’s days off. If only because he could guess Alec’s entire face was relaxed and soft then, just like the way he was looking at him now. 

“You’re here early,” Magnus asked, keeping himself from saying ‘home’. Alec had been getting comfortable in the loft and spending the night more often, but he wasn’t… referring to it as anything else but Magnus’ place right now.

Alec walked to him before replying, and kissed him. Magnus relaxed against his touch. This was heavenly. Alec’s hand rested on Magnus’ hip and pulled him closer. For a second, lost in the heat of Alec’s lips on his, Magnus wondered if Alec had come home early to have sex. 

His first time wasn’t that long ago, but he was definitely showing gusto in improving. And Magnus was very appreciative of his efforts. He had been right, Alec was thorough with everything, including sex. 

Alec eventually pulled back, eyes closed, as if he was regretting having to move away. Magnus agreed. He was regretting Alec putting a bit of distance between them. 

“My mother's back.”

Magnus sighed. That was the perfect thing to say to make any desire to do more than kissing disappear. Maryse Lightwood being back in New York was probably the least sexy idea he could imagine. Maryse Lightwood, as a person, was the least desirable to him. Magnus enjoyed being bossed around in bed, but not to the point where he would find the ex-Head of the New York Institute, that had a tendency to underpay him and find a way to make snide comments about his appearance, ethnicity and species, sexy.

“That’s… fun. I'll make myself scarce,” Magnus replied. 

He turned away from Alec to tidy up his desk, and felt Alec sigh behind him. He raised a curious eyebrow. It seemed like the matter of Maryse’s arrival in New York was only the beginning of what he had to tell him. And probably the reason why Alec had come to see him this early.

“Are you… familiar with the Nephili Rune Ceremony?” Alec asked, quietly. That was unexpected as well. 

Magnus turned back to face him. “Vaguely. I know you all go through with it, and it’s important but…” He trailed off, moving his hands to indicate that it was all he knew of it.

Alec shifted, taking his usual resting position, hands clasped behind his back. “The Rune Ceremony is… the day where we become soldiers of the Angel,” he started. “It usually happens when we’re around twelve, when we have finished learning what makes a Naphil a naphil. It’s when we’ve learned all of the runes, and learned proper combat.”

Magnus huffed a little. A twelve-year-old wasn’t supposed to have learned proper combat. 

Alec noticed his huff but continued. Maybe he was starting to get used to Magnus’ dislike of certain aspects of Nephili culture. 

“After our Rune Ceremony is when we go to the Academy and specialize ourselves. I went into strategy and diplomacy, because I always wanted to follow in my parents’ footsteps and lead...,” Alec explained. Magnus could feel the pride in his voice. “Izzy went to demonic studies, pathology and biology. After the Rune Ceremony is also when we get to choose our parabatais.” 

Magnus hummed. Somewhat like mundane high school then. Warlocks didn’t have such structures. There were mentors and apprentices, to an extent, and High Warlocks tended to have a House. But outside of those loose relationships, all studies in the Spiral Labyrinth were unrestricted and free, with no schedule or strict choice to make about a field of study. In a warlock’s often long life, the ones that studied in the Labyrinth usually dabbled in many fields. 

“Max is turning twelve in a couple of months, but he’s already finished his general studies,” Alec continued. “We’re having his Rune Ceremony in a couple of days, and as the eldest male… I’m the one throwing the ceremonial party, the eve of.” 

Magnus chuckled. “Are you gonna ask me to be your date?” 

Alec shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and looked at him. “I… I was thinking that you could help me throw it.” 

Magnus gasped a little. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish. He felt genuinely confused. Maryse hated him. She would never allow for her youngest to have his ceremonial party organised by a warlock. Her eldest son’s warlock boyfriend, for that matter.

“You can say no,” Alec added, looking at him. “But I know you enjoy the occasional gathering… and it would mean a lot to me. To be able to show her that you’re part of my family now. That we’re not going to… stop being together, because she thinks it’s inconvenient.”

_ She thinks it’s more than inconvenient _ , Magnus thought, but said nothing. He was a bit dazed and confused if he had to be honest. He enjoyed Alec’s sentiment, truly, and he wanted to show that he wasn’t going to leave either, but… this was… it meant hosting a party of Nephilim. Hosting the Lightwood family, out of all of them, maybe in his home. He didn’t know how many relatives would show up. And he didn’t really want them here.

“Why are you the eldest male?” Magnus blurted out instead of answering. “Isn’t your father still alive?” 

Alec sighed heavily, tension tight in his shoulders. “He’s not coming. Busy in Idris, with the Valentine task force, Mom says,” he paused there for a moment. He seemed to search for his words. “Max told me they were fighting a lot. I think she might have forbidden him to come.” 

Magnus saw the heaviness in the way Alec said those words. Despite all of what they’d done to him, his siblings, the people around them, Alec still loved his parents. And knowing their marriage was in shambles probably hurt a lot.

Magnus took a step closer to Alec, reaching up to touch his cheek gently. Alec melted into his touch. 

“I’ll think about it,” Magnus said softly. “I’ll give you my answer by tomorrow.” 

Alec breathed out. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That’s… all I need.” 

\--------------------

Clary knocked at the door of Izzy’s bedroom. Izzy had been hidden in it since Maryse and Max had arrived, and Clary guessed she understood. Izzy was fresh off of yin fen, and the little Clary had seen of Maryse didn’t exactly tell her that Maryse would be understanding. 

There was no answer from inside the room. The door was locked, and Clary knew Izzy wouldn’t let her in if she didn’t say who she was. 

“Hey, Izzy… it’s Clary,” she called out softly. 

Immediately, there were sounds of footsteps coming from behind the wooden panel and the sound of a lock turning. Izzy ushered her into the room. Clary looked at her fully once she was in. 

Izzy looked a bit tired, like she’d had a bad couple of nights. Clary hadn’t been able to stay and cuddle her now that Maryse was around. They’d talked about what to do once her family would get involved, and Izzy wasn’t ready to come out. From what she’d told Clary, she didn’t even know what she really was. Clary was letting her do whatever she needed, for as long as she had to. 

The room was messy, piles of clothes on the floor, bed, furniture. Clary could see a lot of dark colors, a lot of red too. A few almost glittery pieces of clothing. A lot of shoes too, in a pile at the very foot of the bed. Clary walked in between piles and looked around.

“Are you alright?” She asked softly.

Izzy shrugged, looking at the few piles. “I’m trying to separate the mother-approved clothing from the non-mother approved clothing.” It wasn’t an answer to Clary’s question. 

Clary hummed. “Do you need some help with that?” 

Izzy looked immediately relieved. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, Clary noticed, and she wondered why. Izzy was always so put together, especially when Maryse was around. Not that she minded. Clary loved Izzy’s face, and she didn’t care about the makeup, really. There was something… attractive about this version of Izzy.

The skin around her eyes was darker, digging shadows into her face. There was a dark fuzz over her upper lip, and some acne scars on her cheeks. She looked human. She looked like a girl, like any other. 

They sat together on the floor as Izzy brought forward another part of mismatched clothing. Lingerie, nightwear, sportswear, dresses, the occasional pair of pants. Anything with a too-low neckline went into the “no” pile. 

After a moment, Izzy sighed softly. Her hands were resting in her lap, and Clary noticed her left hand was trembling.

“Babe,” Clary whispered. 

Izzy noticed she’d seen it, and pushed her hand below a dark grey dress, looking down. “It won’t stop,” she whispered. “Ever since Mom arrived, it won’t fucking stop.” She looked so frustrated, so sad and afraid. 

Clary couldn’t stand to see Izzy this way. Slowly, she slid her hand under the grey satin fabric, finding Izzy’s fingers. They were trembling under there, against hers, and Clary interlaced their hands. 

Izzy’s breath hitched for a moment as she looked down, at the fabric that covered their hands. 

“It’s the stress,” Clary whispered. “It’s nothing else than the stress.” 

Izzy closed her eyes. “How do you know?” 

Clary sighed. She didn’t really know what to reply. She just knew. “You’re strong. And when Maryse arrived, it just made you so stressed out. Hiding this from her, having her watch you as you and I are starting to date… It’s a lot.”

Izzy swallowed. She looked at Clary, her eyes clear and grateful. Her hand was still shivering in hers, but it was slowing down. 

“I’m here,” Clary promised. “I’m here to hold your hand, no matter what.”

Izzy breathed out. Strands of dark hair escaped the bun that held the mass of her hair behind her neck. It was thick and low on her nape. Clary reached with her other hand, caressing Izzy’s cheek softly. 

“You’re not alone, baby,” Clary whispered. “I promise you.” 

Izzy leaned against her touch. Soon, Clary pulled their joined hands from under the gray dress, looking down at them. Izzy’s hand wasn’t shaking anymore. 

“Do you want me to do your makeup?” Clary asked softly. “I don’t have your sharp eyeliner skill, but I can do something soft for today.”

Izzy seemed to think for a moment before she nodded. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I’m not super… appropriate right now.”

Clary shook her head. “No. Don’t be sorry. You’re beautiful either way. I just thought it might make you feel better.” 

She stood up, still holding Izzy’s hand. She helped the other woman up, one arm wrapping tenderly around Izzy’s waist, pulling her to her now that they were both standing. 

Izzy looked at her with wide, beautiful, dark brown eyes that looked almost black. She was so beautiful, Clary thought, as she leaned in to kiss her tenderly. Izzy closed her eyes and relaxed against her. 

  
  


\-------------------

Maryse sat where she felt she belonged, behind the desk in the office of the Head of the Institute. She ran her hands over the wood, sighing softly. She’d spent almost eighteen years as the Head of the New York Institute. She’d not always been behind the desk, of course, Robert and her sharing the burden of the profession, and Alec taking over occasionally as he grew older, and became a leader worthy of the Lightwood name.

She’d worked tirelessly at this very desk, to fix the damage she’d done to the Lightwoods, to her own name. She’d worked to forget Valentine and his black eyes, the Circle, and what they’d done. She remembered spending her life in this room. She would have given birth to Max here had they let her. 

She looked over at the wall. A simple landscape painting of Brocelind Plains in Idris was hung instead of her double-edged axe. When she’d been Head, her signature weapon had been displayed on the wall, a symbol of her power, her strength in combat. A symbol that she belonged in this room, that she’d earned it no matter what the circumstances of being given the position was.

There were no pictures or elements that showcased anything of Victor Aldertree’s personality. She had looked around for a while as she prepared Max’s Rune Ceremony, and except the painting, some empty boxes and silver tins, there was nothing that revealed anything about him.

A part of Maryse wanted to dig until she found an ugly secret she could use to take Aldertree down and take back what was rightfully hers, rightfully her family’s. With the way things were going, none of her children would get to be a Head of Institute, no matter how much they’d worked for it. Especially Alec.

She sighed heavily. The situation with Alec was perhaps the most complex one. Whatever he was doing with that warlock man… that would cost him more than he probably realized. Maryse understood senseless infatuations, Angel knew she’d had her share of them. Hers had been more of the angel-blooded kind, of course, but… She blushed as she remembered that she’d almost called off her wedding to Robert because she’d been crushing on Lucian Graymark.

A knock resounded on the door and she immediately straightened up, gathering herself. Whoever was coming to see her, they shouldn’t see her reminiscing about Lucian Graymark’s dark eyes and strong arms and steady loyalty. They shouldn’t see her  _ blush _ at the memory of her crush. Especially not when Robert and she were…

“Come in!” She called out, and the door opened.

Alec stepped through the door. He looked serious, closed off. It had been years since the last time he’d looked at Maryse with a smile, the last time he’d walked into the Head of Institute office with a spring in his step. She remembered a six-year-old Alexander telling her that the Head of Institute’s office was his favorite place in the world, months after they’d been unofficially exiled from Idris in the New York Institute. 

“Alec,” she smiled. He didn’t smile back.

“Mother,” he said, holding out a piece of paper.

Maryse took it. It was a beautiful, thick cream sheet of paper, folded closed with a black ribbon, and a black wax seal of an Angelic Power rune.

“The invitation for the Ceremonial Party,” he explained. “I’ll have them sent to those on your list, if they suit you.”

Maryse thanked him. She grabbed a letter opener and broke the seal cleanly. The paper unfolded, and inside, she read the words written in black ink over a beautiful golden background, under the same Angelic Power Rune design as the wax seal.

THE LIGHTWOOD FAMILY

REQUESTS THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE AT THE

**_Rune Ceremony_ **

OF MAXWELL J. LIGHTWOOD

AUGUST 29th, EIGHT O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING

AT THE RESIDENCE OF 

**MAGNUS BANE**

NIGHTINGALE TOWERS, BROOKLYN HEIGHTS

Maryse swallowed, re-reading the address. A pit opened in her stomach. She looked up at Alec. He stood next to the desk, looking at her, waiting for her to say something. Waiting for her to react to what was written. 

“At the residence of Magnus Bane?” She said, softly. Her voice was a little empty. Afraid, almost. 

“Magnus is helping me organize. I don’t have much experience in party planning,” Alec replied. It should have been said in a joking tone, but it wasn’t. It was cold, sarcastic. 

Maryse looked down. “A Rune Ceremony isn’t a place for a warlock,” she replied. 

“He’s not planning to be there at the actual ceremony. But he’s going to host the party.” Alec was firm, quiet with determination. There was no actual choice for her to make. Either she accepted that Bane was going to host the ceremonial party in his warlock lair, or the ceremonial party would not happen, and people would wonder why. Maryse didn’t know if she could stand more scrutiny.

“Alexander…” She said, calling him by his True name. Alec had a little flinch. He’d always hated when she called him that. It had always meant trouble, and punishment. “This… Downworlders aren’t to be involved in this. It’s a rite of passage, it’s a big step in Max’s life as a Naphil, as a Shadowhunter. It's tradition.”

“Traditions change, especially those based on ignorance,” Alec shook his head. “Magnus is part of my family now. And as family, he should be there.”

Maryse swallowed again. Family? Alec had been seeing this warlock for… four months. It was too early to call him family, at least she thought so. She knew it was hypocritical of her to feel so... strongly about it. To feel as if four months for Alec and Bane was less time than four months had been for her and Robert. 

“I know you’re not happy, mother,” Alec added, staring at her. “But this is the way it’s going to be. Father’s not here. I am the one organizing the party. This is what I’ve organized. If you’re unhappy with it, go and explain to our relatives why Max didn’t get a party.” 

Maryse pursed her lips. Alec’s coldness, his anger, the way he looked at her like she was the enemy… She could feel guilt and anger rise inside of her. She could feel the shame of what she’d turned her son into. And at the same time, she was proud of him. Proud that he could take what he wanted, proud that he could force her hand in this. He was a leader now. A leader and a man. 

“We'll be there,” she said. “Thank you for going to all this trouble for us.”

Alec relaxed a little, and it hurt Maryse to see him so tense next to her. 

“Thank Magnus. This wouldn’t be happening without him,” Alec replied. He walked away immediately.

The door slammed shut behind him, and he hadn’t said goodbye to her. Maryse looked down at the invitation in front of her. Alec was right. 

She couldn’t go and explain to the rest of the family that Robert wouldn’t attend his youngest son’s Rune Ceremony because their marriage, their partnership, was broken beyond repair. She couldn’t go and tell everyone that she’d failed to keep her husband, that she’d failed to be a good wife, a good woman. She knew what they would think, what they would say.

They’d looked at every woman of Maryse’s generation with scorn when the Clave allowed for them to train as the men did, as Shadowhunters. They’d told them that if they chose to turn away from their duties as women, then they wouldn’t find love and happiness. They wouldn’t have proper families. They would fail. 

Maryse couldn’t stand the idea that maybe they were right. Maybe she’d been too ambitious, too strong, too manly. Maybe that was why Robert had strayed away from her, from their marriage. 

She closed her eyes, shaking away the tears that filled her vision. Annamarie Highsmith. She was blonde and pale and thin, so far from Maryse’s strong frame, from her tan and her dark hair. She was everything Maryse couldn’t and didn’t want to be. And Robert had been choosing her, for  _ years _ . 

Maryse had failed. She’d failed her husband, she’d failed Alec, and Izzy, and Max, and Jace as well. She’d failed everyone she held dear. She’d failed her brother too, her Maxwell, the one that she’d wanted to make proud. She was broken, and wrong, and a failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 23, Love Is a Devil Part 2  
>    
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
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> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
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	23. Love Is A Devil Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter Love Is A Devil Part II. 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy this!

Clary’s arms were wrapped tightly around Izzy’s chest as they drove through the traffic. They had just gotten off of the Brooklyn Bridge, and were driving south towards Brooklyn Heights. 

On the rearview mirrors of her motorcycle, Izzy could see Clary’s red hair sticking out from under her helmet, whipping around with the wind of their drive. The motorcycle was glamored, and they were going much faster than the mundane rules allowed for. Izzy was an expert in not getting stuck in between mundane cars. 

She felt Clary’s arms regularly tighten even more around her chest, when they drove too close to some cars for her comfort. The adrenaline made Izzy smile, and so did Clary’s body against hers. 

She was much more comfortable driving like this than going through the subway system, but she guessed Clary wasn’t. She sometimes forgot that Clary wasn’t like her, that she hadn’t been born outside of the mundane world. Occasionally, Clary did or said something that reminded Izzy that they hadn’t been raised the same way. Izzy loved it. 

She found a parking spot relatively easily, and they parked a bit away from Magnus’ address. It took a while for Clary to unlock her arms from around Izzy, as she was probably frozen by the fifteen minutes spent fearing for her safety. 

Clary’s heels clicked on the sidewalk as she got off of the motorcycle, and she took off her helmet. Izzy didn’t hesitate to stare as her hair spilled out of the helmet, messy and voluminous and heart-stopping. 

Clary’s dress was navy blue and relatively simple. The underskirt stopped at her mid thigh and the same blue floral lace that covered the top made the overskirt, the handkerchief-style hem of it reaching below her knee. 

Clary looked around as Izzy got off of the motorcycle herself, and grabbed her heels out from under the motorcycle’s seat. For the drive, she had traded high stiletto heels with an elegant tie-in design at the front, that did little to nothing to protect her ankle, for some simple boots. It looked strange with her dress bunched up over her hips and some leggings, but it worked.

She took off the leggings and put them in the motorcycle as well as the boots, and changed to her heels. 

“I keep forgetting we’re glamored and no one will actually see you stripping half-naked in the middle of the street,” Clary chuckled as Izzy pulled down the hem of her black dress. 

Izzy grinned. “Worst case scenario, I give some random Downworlders a show,” she shrugged. 

Clary rolled her eyes. She didn’t seem to be the type that would get mad at this sort of comment, and it made Izzy much more comfortable than she would have been otherwise.

Izzy’s right hand grabbed Clary’s, fingers intertwining, as they walked down the sidewalk, towards the Nightingale Towers. It was a set of two six-stories-tall buildings, brick-made, with the letters reading “BROOKLYN CARPET MFG. CO. LIMITED” on the red-colored façade, right above the lights of Magnus’ loft and balcony.

The thought that she was going to Max’ rune ceremony party with Clary made Izzy’s heart beat too fast. She hadn’t told her mother yet. She didn’t know if she was ever going to. Clary and her had decided that they would not show too much intimacy at the party. 

Izzy wasn’t really ready to tell her parents about this, she thought, looking down at their hands. She could see the edge of Clary’s remembrance rune, curling over the skin of her left wrist. She squeezed Clary’s hand.

Clary looked away from the buildings and towards her, smiling widely. Izzy loved the way her smile made her nose scrunch up, the way it made her eyes a tiny bit smaller as they twinkled. 

“Maybe you’ll get your own rune party one day,” Izzy said, voice thoughtful. “I don’t know what the tradition is for people who get their runes later. Maybe we use the same sort of ceremony as Ascension…”

“You’re speaking Chinese to me, sometimes,” Clary chuckled. “Maybe I’ll get one. I don’t know. I don’t know who would be there for it.”

“I would,” Izzy immediately replied. “Without a doubt. And so would Jace. He’s your brother, after all.” 

Clary fell silent for a moment. She reached over to the Remembrance rune. Izzy bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up. Jocelyn was gone after all. Jace was the last of Clary’s blood family. Actually, no. There was still Valentine, even if no one wanted to think about it.

“I can’t wait to see what Magnus and Alec have prepared,” Izzy said, changing subjects.

“Is your entire family coming?” Clary asked curiously as they walked up to the building’s door. 

They pushed the door. It was unlocked for them, Magnus’ magic recognizing them without them having to show their invitation. That was great, because Izzy couldn’t remember if she’d brought it with her. 

“I don’t know. I’m assuming they would, but I know some will be… upset by the location. My parents didn’t join the Circle out of nowhere,” she replied. 

She knew some of her extended family, though far from all. They were the same kind of conservative people as her parents, maybe even worse. At least Maryse let her fight, and didn’t ask when she was going to be married. She’d met some of her relatives that disliked that she was a Shadowhunter, and would rather she had at least one child by now. Maryse herself had had Alec at 21. 

They got into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. There were only two apartments there, Magnus’, and some other poor souls. Izzy wondered what it was like to live next door to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, especially one with a reputation such as Magnus’. 

“The ones that should know about us know,” Clary whispered, squeezing her hand. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t know my family,” Izzy replied. She could feel the tension in her entire body, she could feel the knots in her shoulders. She wanted to run away. But at the same time, she was so happy to be there, for Max’ rune ceremony.

Clary didn’t reply. Instead she reached up to pull Izzy to her, pressing a gentle, but firm kiss to her lips. Izzy melted against her touch, deepening the kiss. Clary’s free hand cupped her cheek, then slid into her hair. Izzy made a small noise of appreciation against her lips.

She forgot that time was passing, she forgot that people were waiting for them. Clary’s lips were soft but Clary was unwavering. The noise of the elevator doors opening startled them apart.

Izzy couldn’t help the happy giggle that came out of her mouth as she checked herself in the mirror before Clary tugged her into the corridor. Her lipstick wasn’t all over her face, thank the Angel. That would have been hard to explain to her family. 

They walked quietly to Magnus’ door. It was a beautiful dark wood double door with PH1 written in metallic letters on it. Reluctantly, Izzy let go of Clary’s hand. 

“Are you ready?” Clary asked softly. Her lips were a little bit redder than before, some of Izzy’s lipstick having rubbed off on them, but it was nothing that looked out of place.

Izzy nodded. Together they pushed open the doors to the loft. 

Simple, beautiful violin music resounded into the room. Most of the furniture that usually filled Magnus’ living room was gone. In the middle of the room was a great wooden sculpture of an Angelic Power Rune, made of beautiful dark wood, with silver veins. 

The walls were tended with black and white fabrics, the night bright outside of the great windows. Waiters in black and white weaved through the crowd of Nephilim serving hors-d’oeuvres on silvery platters. 

Clary and Izzy stepped into the crowd, and Izzy wished she could hold Clary’s hand. The loft was filled with relatives and she had no desire to talk to them. She and Clary exchanged a look and Izzy felt a little bit warmer.

Further into the loft, a bar had been set up, behind which Maia was hard at work. As Jace walked up to the bar, he saw the drink menu printed in beautiful golden letters on black paper behind Maia’s afro. A champagne cocktail seemed to be the alcoholic drink special, followed by a juice cocktail for those who didn’t drink, and a couple of selections of beers and wines. 

He stopped in front of the bar, next to Raj who was waiting for Maia to serve him. Raj had a way of behaving that typically annoyed Jace so he barely nodded at him in acknowledgement of his presence. Instead he focused on the werewolf that was bartending a Rune Ceremony party. 

“I haven’t been to many of these parties, but Magnus was brave to hire you,” Jace chuckled. 

Maia rolled her eyes. “Jace Morgenstern, the pleasure is… not mine,” she said sarcastically, but her smile denoted that she was teasing him. 

He winced at the name. “Just call me Jace. Say Morgenstern too loudly and the entire party is going to remember who my father is and try to murder me,” he replied.

“Somehow, I feel that’s a recurring event in your life,” Maia replied. “What can I get you?”

Jace shot a look at the menu for a second. “Beer?” 

Maia chuckled. “Beer? That’s boring.”

“I didn’t ask for a side of judgement,” Jace rolled his eyes. 

“That’s on the house,” Maia shrugged. “I’m spending the evening serving people that look at me like I’m dirt under their shoe, so I’m allowing myself a 10% raise in snark.” 

Jace chuckled, looking around at the crowd. She deserved that 10% raise for sure. He himself didn’t want to spend much time around these people. 

Once upon a time he’d considered them his relatives, or at least the relatives of his siblings, a strange degree of familial relationship. Now, he considered them… still the relatives of his siblings, but they were further away. They were more likely to be enemies.

Maia grabbed a glass filled with a milky yellow mix and added some alcohol and a dash of champagne into it, with an added lemon zest swirl over it. 

“Here. It’s the cocktail of the day,” she pointed out. “It’ll be stronger than a beer, and you’ll need it.”

Jace sighed softly. “Thanks.” 

He looked around again, and caught sight of Clary and Izzy walking side by side through the groups of Shadowhunters. They both looked quite uncomfortable. 

“I’m gonna go and save my sisters,” he pointed out to Maia. “Good luck with… everyone.” 

Maia nodded with a smile, and turned back to the next person who was waiting for a drink, a tall blonde man with blue eyes and a quiet demeanor. Jace knew him as Andrew Underhill, a field soldier that worked in one of the other teams. He was unremarkable, as far as reputation went.

Clary and Izzy were talking quietly under their breath when Jace walked up to them. 

“Hey,” he said softly, and both of them seemed to relax instantly. 

Izzy opened her arms and hugged him a little too tight. She was nervous, he could feel it like a wave coming out of her skin. The yin fen hadn’t been gone from her system for long enough for her not to feel like everyone would know by looking at her, he guessed. That and her relationship to Clary.

Clary was standing next to Izzy, looking at her with tenderness. Jace couldn’t help but smile. His sisters. Dating. 

“You guys are cute,” he chuckled.

Izzy went a little paler. “Are we that obvious?” She asked, worriedly.

“No, no,” Jace shook his head. “I just know you. And I’m starting to be aware that straight is not the only option.” 

He was getting better and better about it. Alec and Magnus were steadier than any couple he’d been around. And Clary had more than once hit his arm after he’d made a comment he shouldn’t have made. It was still a little strange for him, to imagine that two men and two women could… be couples. A man and a woman was still his default vision of the world. But he was getting better.

He was trying, anyway. He had. For his family. He wouldn’t be the one to push them away for who they were. He wouldn’t be the one to hate them for who they loved either. That was a promise he’d made them, without them knowing about it. It wasn’t something they had to work for anyway. It was his problem. 

Izzy relaxed again at that. She shot a glance towards the cocktail he had in his hand. “That looks delicious.” 

“That’s the special for tonight. It’s really good,” he admitted. 

Izzy grinned. “Awesome. I’ll go get each of us one,” she told Clary, and walked away towards the bar, where Maia was.

Clary sighed happily as she looked away.

“Some weirdos would be very into the idea that their two hot sisters are banging,” Jace started, and rolled his eyes at himself. He was an ass. He took a big gulp of his cocktail. 

“That’s disgusting, Jace,” Clary replied, rolling her eyes as well. 

Jace chuckled and looked around the party. “Have you gotten comments yet?” 

“Izzy and I aren’t acting as a couple,” Clary pointed out. 

“I meant about being a Morgenstern,” Jace explained. “Not about your relationship.”

“Ah,” Clary sighed softly. “No comments, but a whole bunch of looks,” she replied. She crossed her arms. “Of all kinds. Dirty, angry, curious… No pity though. No empathy.” 

“Nephilim don’t really do much empathy,” he reminded her. “We’re a… cold people.” 

Clary nodded quietly, biting her lip.

Izzy waited for her turn at the bar. She was surprised to see Maia there. She and the werewolf didn’t have a good relationship. The last time they’d really seen each other had been while Maia was hunting Jace. 

She didn’t know who the woman was, really. She knew she was part of Luke Garroway’s pack, and had been for a few years. The Institute kept track of arrivals and departures in the various packs and clans around the city. It was maybe wrong, but it was something they did. 

Maia Roberts, newly Turned werewolf, hadn’t been classified as very dangerous. Maybe they’d been wrong about that. 

“What will it be for you?” Maia asked, polite, but far from warm. Izzy understood why, for sure. 

“Two of your cocktails.” 

She’d iratze the alcohol away before going on the drive back if she needed to. Maia turned around. Her dress was relatively tight, and she had thigh-high black boots on. She was an attractive woman, Izzy noted. She felt herself flush a little. She wasn’t used to appreciating women. And she was surprised to feel how easy it was getting, now that she knew they were an option, now that she knew she could be attracted to them.

The world of her attraction to women was new, and fun. She was incredibly glad she had realized it, and kissed Clary. Clary was perfect. And hot. It would be a much nicer evening if she could just go home and make out with Clary in bed.

She shook her head, as she pushed away the thoughts. She knew that her family members and the rest of the guests couldn’t read her mind, but still. It felt strange. 

Maia turned around, holding two of the gold-brimmed glasses in her hands. The last few times she’d seen her, she’d worn many rings, Izzy noticed. And much edgier clothing. 

“Are they being nice to you?” Izzy asked, quietly, smiling. She’d seen Maia talk to Simon a lot, and Simon was Clary’s best friend. For some reason, she considered that reason enough to work on her relationship with the woman.

Maia sighed a little. “As much as expected,” she replied. “But Magnus is very generous with pay, so I’m not complaining.”

Izzy chuckled. “I’m glad. You’re an amazing bartender, and you definitely deserve better than whatever they’re saying to you.”

Maia shrugged. “They are pretty polite, when they’re actually talking to me, but I can see the way they look at me, the way they take the glasses I give them. That’s the worst part.”

Izzy nodded. She was probably right. She knew these people, and though she couldn’t hear what they were saying right now, she knew they weren’t happy the bartender and waiters weren’t Nephilim. 

“Sorry on their behalf,” she replied. “I hope the rest of the day goes okay.” 

Maia thanked her, and Izzy turned away from the bar. 

The cocktail was getting warm in Magnus’ hand. Alec and him had circled through the loft, chatting with some people to try and mingle, but it wasn’t… going perfectly. Magnus was tense. He couldn’t help it. 

His home was full of Nephilim, the kind of Nephilim that bred Robert and Maryse Lightwood and other Circle members. They almost always ignored the polite questions he asked and talked to Alec, barely acknowledging that he was even in the room.

He took a big gulp of the cocktail and sighed heavily. Next to him, Alec leaned against him slightly, bumping shoulders with him and giving him a questioning look. 

Magnus sighed again, looking at his fingers and the cocktail. “I’m worried we might not have enough food. I probably underestimated the number of your relatives that would accept to have a party at a warlock’s home. Besides, I saw some of the skewers go by and they look overcooked. I gave the chef specific directions and-” 

“Magnus,” Alec interjected, loud and clear. Firm. Magnus looked up at him, a bit surprised. It did bring his ranting and rising anxiety to a halt, but it also made him… feel things. That he should definitely not be feeling in the middle of a room filled with Nephilim that were pretty against his relationship to Alec. But he couldn’t help the way that authoritative, firm, tone made him feel.

“Everything is perfect,” Alec continued, pulling Magnus out of a very dirty corner of his mind. 

Magnus was about to thank him when the door behind them opened. A 12-year-old ran towards Alec, with floppy light brown hair and brown eyes and dressed in a dark suit. He looked like a small business man, but the delighted smile that he shot towards Alec made Magnus relax a little. At least there was some childlike wonder left in that boy.

He’d met a few Nephili kids in his life, most of them on their deathbeds as their parents finally resorted to a warlock for help. He hadn’t had a lot of time to see what they were like, these children that were pushed into war so early on. 

It made him a little uncomfortable that tonight’s party was about this… child’s coming of age, about him being old enough to be sent into the field. He was so small, and so young. For a second, he imagined a young Alec, as small and as young, but somehow, he couldn’t imagine the young Alec smiling as much as Max was. 

“Max!” Alec exclaimed. He looked up at the woman that was following him. “Mother,” he greeted with a nod.

Maryse Lightwood looked as stern as she usually did, and even more uncomfortable than Magnus was. Good. He liked knowing he had that over her. At least they were in his home. On his metaphorical turf. 

Maryse gave him a little awkward nod. “I heard you like to drink,” she said in the guise of hello. In her hands was a bottle of what seemed like very expensive vodka. Magnus gave a curt smile.

Of course, his reputation had preceded him. He took the bottle, thanking her quietly. Heaven, this was going to be the most awkward night of his life. And he’d been through many awkward occasions.

“Welcome, Maryse,” Magnus said simply, before turning to the child. He was smaller than Magnus had imagined, and blonder than Maryse, Alec and Isabelle. He imagined the blondeness came from his father’s side of the family. He remembered the Truebloods to be dark of hair and eye, more Meditteranean. It was still hard to picture Alec ever being this small.

“Max,” Magnus grinned. “This is your night. I hope you enjoy it all.” 

With a grand gesture of his arm, he indicated the room in front of them. He was proud of the dark drapes, the solemn and elegant feel of the loft, the beautiful wooden sculpture providing a bit of a natural hint to the decoration. The violinists were playing quiet and upbeat music that kept the atmosphere light, and the food looked delicious. 

It looked like a proper Shadowhunter party, but one Magnus Bane could be proud of hosting. He’d taken out some of his prized weapons, beautiful, rare, staffs and blades displayed on the brick walls, giving an edge of martial glory to the event. After all, it celebrated Max’ entry into the army of the Angel.

“This is… elegant,” Maryse said, her voice betraying her surprise. She’d probably expected a rave. Of course, warlocks could be elegant too. It wasn’t just animalistic and pagan rituals, Magnus thought sarcastically.

“Oh, thank you,” Magnus replied, politely thankful. “Alec took control of most of the planning. He has a keen eye for aesthetics,” he complimented, sending Alec a look. 

He hadn’t much looked at him since Maryse had arrived. Alec’s shoulders were wound pretty tightly, but he looked back at Magnus with a smirk. Their preparations for the party had once or twice gotten forgotten for more… physical activities, and they both remembered his flirtations over colors of drapes and the way they could look next to Magnus’ naked skin. Magnus had been the one trying to stir them away from work most of the time, Alec having the focus and precision of a task master. Military upbringing made for dedication to work.

“How… unexpected,” Maryse whispered, looking at her son with a raised eyebrow and a stern look. She then turned to Magnus. “I would have imagined  _ you  _ were the specialist. Considering… everything.” She spoke the last word with disdain, her eyes looking him over. 

Was it the queerness, the reputation, his ethnicity or his species? Probably a mix of four. Magnus decided to let it go. He was going to let this happen, and then he’d have a nice sleep.

“How about a drink?” Magnus offered, stopping the conversation before it could get worse in any way possible. “French 75 for the lady, a Roy Rogers for the guest of honor.” And with that, he nodded at them and escaped the clutches of Maryse’s disdain.

Clary had left Izzy to talk with some of her cousins, walking through the crowd aimlessly. At least the cocktails were tasty and strong. She felt out of place here, in between people she didn’t know, people who didn’t want to know her. 

She didn’t fit with Shadowhunters like this. She wasn’t like them, and she would probably never be. They stared at her like she was a curiosity, and with the same disgust with which they looked at Jace, or some of the waiters. Like they were monsters, abominations. 

Clary couldn’t stand it.

She walked towards the balcony, where she hoped she could find some fresh air and a bit of alone time. 

Unfortunately, the balcony was not empty when she pushed the door open. There was Jace, leaning against the edge of it, talking to someone. She blinked, recognizing the tall and slightly more slender than Jace figure, with his dark hair and dark eyes. Simon. They were talking, in normal-volume voices, unaware that she was there. 

“I can’t stand looking at her anymore,” Simon said. “She’s so much… like the rest of the Shadowhunters.”

This didn’t make sense. Simon wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a Naphil-only event, except for the staff. And Simon wasn’t a waiter. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his usual attire. 

Jace sighed. “She’s so… wrong. Being her brother is like a punishment. Like the Angel thought I deserved to be from the same blood as her.”

Simon nodded. “She’s wrong, you’re right. She’s a monster, like her father.” 

Clary was frozen into place. There was no doubt they were talking about her. It was loud and violent, like they were punching her in the gut repeatedly.

They  _ hated  _ her. Nausea rose in her throat, heavy and suffocating and making her feel like she was going to die.  _ They thought she was a monster _ . She tried to fight the tears that welled in her eyes. 

“I wish she would leave me alone,” Simon added. “She’s like… a disease, growing in me.”

“You should cut her out,” Jace nodded in agreement. “I’ll be doing that myself soon. I’m growing so tired of her useless life.”

Unable to take more, Clary moved away from the balcony, and back into the party. She walked blindly through the crowd, searching for anyone. For Izzy. Maybe Izzy would still want to be around her. Maybe Izzy didn’t think she was a monster.

“Clary!” Jace called out behind her, and rage burned through her body. 

She whirled around, her dress flowing around her. Pointing an accusatory finger at him, she demanded that he stop. Jace stopped dead in his tracks, worry filling his eyes. Stupid eyes. Brown and blue and so different from hers. She guessed it would be easy for him to cut her out and consider her a stranger; they looked so little alike.

“Fuck off, Jace,” Clary snarled. “Fuck off, since you so desperately want to get rid of me!”

Her voice was too loud, and she was going to cry. Her entire body buzzed with rage and  _ pain.  _ It was almost as bad as when she’d lost her mother. Perhaps even more. It made her want to stop breathing so the pain that came with every inhale would stop as well.

“What?” Jace replied. And then he sighed. His face changed a little, his lips pressing in an annoyed, thin line. “I guess you heard us.”

Clary wanted to puke. She wanted to punch him too. So hard. “You should have told me to my face. You coward!” She shouted.

“We were trying to be nice, you see,” Jace huffed. “Your temper is so unmanageable… You’re like an animal. Can’t be trusted with anything. We were hoping you wouldn’t attack us. And here we are now.”

Clary’s heart was breaking. She wished she had her seraph blade for a moment. She wanted to  _ hurt _ him. And herself. She wanted to hurt everyone around her and she wanted to scream, scream louder than the fucking violins that seemed to be playing music that was too-upbeat, too-joyous for this moment. It felt like they were mocking her.

She realized she was crying, and looked down. Fuck, he was right. She was so angry she could kill him, and that seemed animalistic enough. She took a step back, and walked away from the situation. He wasn’t going to be right. 

She bumped into Magnus as she walked. He stopped her on her way. 

“I need to get out,” Clary said, trying to keep herself together at least until she was past the front door. She was failing miserably. 

Magnus sighed softly. “I heard you shouting,” he said softly. “Whatever they said, I’m sure they don’t mean it. That’s unlike them.”

Clary sniffled. He was right. It was unlike Jace and Simon to say things like that, but… for a moment she wondered. Her mom was dead, her father was completely sociopathic, her other father barely hung around her anymore, too busy taking care of Cleophas and his pack, Simon spent all his time with either Maia or the Clan… 

Deep in her heart, she felt like she knew Izzy, Jace and Alec would leave her too. Soon. 

“Tonight's about Max,” Magnus gently said, summoning some tissues and guiding her towards the bathroom so she could fix her makeup. “And Alec and Izzy. You'll never forgive yourself if you're not there for your friends.”

He was right. Clary exhaled, looking away from Magnus, and towards where she’d last seen Jace and Simon. Neither of them were there. She looked around the apartment for a moment. Jace was on the other side of the room, chatting with another tall blond Shadowhunter, both looking a bit bored. Strange. He’d crossed the room very fast.

“Okay,” she whispered, and her voice wasn’t trembling anymore. She walked into the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror. 

She looked like a mess, rivulets of tears darkened by mascara and eyeliner staining her cheeks, her hair out of place, her eyes reddened and her skin pale and almost sickly. 

She swallowed. Thankfully for her, Magnus had left out some emergency makeup supplies. She got to work. 

The party went on and eventually, it was time for gifts. It wasn’t much of a Shadowhunter custom, and most of the people there had given money, or maybe a weapon or two. Max had yet to show interest in a specific signature weapon, and Magnus guessed people were trying to steer him towards certain ones. He’d seen many blades, few ranged weapons. 

Magnus had spent a long time thinking about a proper gift. He’d asked Alec what was appropriate, of course. He didn’t want to cause diplomatic trouble with the great Maryse Lightwood. And he didn’t want his gift to be taken by overzealous parents.

Maryse was currently standing over Max and a crouching Magnus, her eyes trained on her son, her mouth stuck in a wince. Next to her was Alec, and though he looked serious, his eyes were much softer. 

Magnus held his hands out, the wrapped gift resting on them, hidden by a glamour. Max was starting to get a little frustrated at the lack of presents in Magnus’ hand. 

“I don't see anything,” Max sighed, crossing his arms.

“That's because you're not looking hard enough,” Magnus teased. 

Max seemed to be getting very tired of it so Magnus snapped his fingers, peeling back the glamour and showing the gift in his hand. Max looked like he was going “well finally”, as he took the package from Magnus’ hands.

In the light gold package were some old experiment journals from the times Magnus and Henry Branwell had been working together on portals. Magnus remembered the tall, red-haired man fondly. He’d been kind and creative, preferring to spend his time in his inventing laboratory in the crypt below the London Institute rather than being on the battlefield, fighting demons and creatures like he was supposed to do, as a man in the 19th century Clave.

There was a bit of him in Clary’s creativity, red hair and almost hazel eyes, but she had the Morgenstern fire and fury as well. 

Magnus had been told that Max was a young inventor that had hacked into simulators and forced the Clave’s engineers to rewrite most of the code, and he guessed that his and Henry’s notes would be a good gift. And it was something that Max would not be able to get from the Clave’s archives. The Clave didn’t take easily to… different points of views, no matter what they were. 

“Congratulations, young Shadowhunter,” Magnus said, despite the lack of real interest from the boy.

Max looked at his gift rather silently, observing it and scrapping at the paper with his nails.

“What do you say, Max?” Alec asked, gently hitting his little brother’s back, pushing him to be polite and thank Magnus.

Magnus couldn’t help but sigh. Maryse seemed to show no real care for her son’s behavior. Her face had been frozen in a serious mask since she’d arrived. She’d barely even smiled at her children. Magnus couldn’t help but feel like she was hiding something. 

“Thank you,” Max sighed softly, as if he was regretting having to say it.

Magnus smiled as genuinely as he could, before standing up. He couldn’t wait to be home alone after the party, able to have a glass of red and a long, hot bath. He would put on some nice, comfortable music, and forget that Shadowhunters existed for a short moment. Or maybe he could have Alec there… and forget that Shadowhunters other than him existed.

“Where's your warlock mark?” Max asked, with a tone of voice that demanded an answer. Magnus had been around many children before, and this was the tone of a child that felt righteous, that felt like he deserved an answer. 

Magnus swallowed, uncomfortable. He hadn’t been planning to flash his warlock mark to everyone here. It wasn’t safe. His entire being was screaming at him to get away from the self-righteous demanding tone of a young Shadowhunter who thought Magnus owed proof of his demonic heritage, proof that he was who he said he was. 

Warlock marks were part of every warlock’s Clave file. It was a way to control them in a way, a way to guess who their demonic parent was, a way to see who they were. He remembered the past, the way Shadowhunters would demand to see his warlock mark to prove that he was not a criminal, that he was allowed to walk free through London, or Spain, or Paris, or wherever he was at the time.

Magnus struggled to calm himself, to remind himself that he was safe, that it was alright, that the child in front of him was not going to hurt him if he said no, or if he showed him his mark and was recognized as a criminal.

“Max…” Alec sighed, chastising his brother. 

“You were just as curious at his age,” Maryse replied, and Magnus felt like he was going to run away as fast as he could despite himself. He felt trapped, suddenly. Trapped in his own home.

Alec seemed to notice that Magnus didn’t know what to reply, that Magnus was trying to push away the distress that was rising in his throat. He looked at his mother with a harder look in his eyes. 

“I was, but I should have been told that  _ interrogating _ friends and allies this way was rude,” he told Maryse, colder than before. 

Maryse darkened, looking down at the glass in her hands. 

Max didn’t seem to notice what was going on in between his brother and his mother. Rather, his attention was still focused on Magnus, staring at him with a curious and demanding stare. 

“How much of you is a demon?” Max asked, in the same tone as before. 

Magnus struggled to take in a breath.

“Max, enough.” Surprisingly, it wasn’t Alec that snapped at the child, but Jace. 

He’d walked in, from behind Magnus, as Magnus struggled to hold himself together. It put him even more on edge, actually. He had not seen another threat coming. He could have been dead by now, or hurt, or with magic suppressing handcuffs on.

“That's not how we treat our friends,” the blond man continued. “Apologize to Magnus.”

Magnus didn’t have time to feel thankful and surprised that Jace was defending him. 

“You can't tell me what to do,” Max huffed, rolling his eyes at Jace.

“Hey,” Alec’s voice was firm and unwavering. “Just because you're getting your first rune doesn't mean you can talk to your brother like that.” 

Max frowned, his lip curling in a slightly disgusted scowl. He looked very much like his mother, for a moment. 

“Jace isn't my brother.” 

Jace’s face fell. Magnus felt him tense, felt the playful air that had still been in between everyone in the group dissipate. There was no more party spirit, no more smiles on faces. Maryse looked at her adoptive son, her mouth open, as if she was trying to get ahead of what Max was going to say.

“Mom says you're not even part of our family,” Max shrugged. He didn’t mean harm, he was only repeating what he’d heard too many times. 

Magnus took a step back, deciding that this was too much for him. He walked back into the party, making a beeline for the bar to get a very strong cocktail from Maia. 

Jace stared for a moment at the woman he’d called his mother for over half of his life. Maryse looked upset, as if she hadn’t wanted him to know what she really felt about him. As if she didn’t really want him to know that he’d lost everything he had ever needed. 

“Jace, I…” 

Jace shook his head. He couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t deal with the way she looked at him right now. He took a step back and walked back into the party as well. He needed to find a room where he could breathe for a second. Somewhere where he could possibly have a panic attack in peace. 

He could feel the pressure building into his system, choking him, crushing him and he needed  _ out.  _ Somewhere he could deal with himself, pull himself back together, and finish the evening without really falling apart.

The spare bedroom was the closest room he could find. It was big, comfortable, with a big double bed, and a couch and a little table. He could imagine someone could stay there, under Magnus’ protection. 

He remembered vaguely what he’d heard about Magnus Bane, and his various crimes according to the Clave.  _ Harboring Downworlder Fugitive _ was one of the most repeated offenses. Was this where he hid them? In this plush and normal room? It was luxurious even, as far as hideouts went.

Jace crossed his arms, and tried to calm down. His entire body was shaking with nerves and pain and he had to force it all away. He shuddered, uncrossing his arms again and shaking the energy out of his hands. He wished he could punch something, but a punching bag was not a feature of Magnus’ guest bedroom amenities. 

Just as he was pacing around the bedroom, the door slid open. He looked up, expecting it to be Clary, Alec or Izzy, his siblings, his family. Instead, it was Maryse.

She stood there with sombre eyes, and he tried to remember the last time she’d come to see him to comfort him. A couple of times, maybe, she’d come when he had nightmares when he was ten. The first couple of months when he’d been in the New York Institute. And then, she’d hardened, become more like a taskmaster, like a commander, like… Valentine. 

“What do you want?” Jace asked. His voice shook with emotions, with all the pain and tears he was holding back and he wanted to hurt himself so it would stop. He shouldn’t be… he shouldn’t be this emotional. 

He crossed his arms again, looking away. He shouldn’t show any sort of emotion, especially not to her, now that she thought of him as a parasite. The door slid shut behind Maryse, muffling the music and chatter from the rest of the party.

“I want to talk to you,” Maryse said. She sounded cold. 

Jace huffed, shoving the rest of the feelings away violently. This was not the time. He would fall apart later, when he was back at the boathouse with Simon, where there weren’t all of these people that could judge him. “There's nothing to talk about.” 

“I think there is,” she replied. Maryse was so firm and cold that it made Jace shudder in… fear? Apprehension? It felt like she was going to punish a misbehaving soldier. “Max is right,” she continued, and Jace’s chest felt crushed under the pressure. “You're not his brother.” 

“What?” Jace could barely inhale. He’d expected her to be here to apologize, but she wasn’t. She was staring at him with eyes like ice, with her mouth stuck in a disgusted rictus. 

“You were a ten-year-old left on our doorstep,” Maryse kept going, still as cold and as unrepentant. She’d never loved him. That was what she was telling him. She’d never considered him her son, the way he’d loved her as his mother. “We had no choice but to take you in.”

Jace wished he could stop listening to her but he couldn’t. He was frozen into place. 

“But if I had known you were a  _ demon _ …” She trailed off, her cruel eyes still trained on him, making his entire body want to curl up on himself and ask for mercy, for forgiveness. Being called a demon, was the worst feeling he could imagine. Demon, monster, abomination. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

“I would've done this years ago.”

What? Jace looked up, confusion cutting through the pain enough to make him sober up for a second. It was enough to save his life. 

Maryse’s face distorted in rage and anger. She moved fast, like a Shadowhunter in their prime, and threw something that gleamed silver in the light of the room. Jace ducked, and the weapon flew into the wood of the piece of furniture right behind him. He sent a glance at it. A throwing axe. 

Maryse’s signature weapon had been the double-edged axe. This was only a smaller, more ranged version of her favorite. 

He looked back towards her, just as she was lunging forward, a seraph dagger in her hand, thrusting towards his heart. He grabbed her arm, immobilizing her, and twisted it harshly. Her entire body flew back, and she hit the ground hard. The dagger clinked as it hit the ground. 

Maryse didn’t get up. She was unmoving, eyes closed, out cold. Or worse. 

Jace felt bile rise in his throat. What had he done? 

Izzy was walking around the party, smiling at her family for a moment. As she turned around, she saw a hint of red hair and a navy dress, rushing towards her. Clary. Her eyes were a little red, as if she’d cried. Izzy frowned, grabbing her arm to stop her from walking past her. 

“Hey, Clary,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?” 

Clary seemed to hesitate, eyes a bit lost as she looked around them. It was as if she didn’t know whether she could confide in Izzy or not. Izzy was slightly hurt, but she said nothing; 

“I… Jace and Simon are acting weird,” she whispered. “They said things… horrible things.” 

“Simon?” Izzy frowned even more. “Simon’s at the Du Mort, I think. He wasn’t invited.”

Clary frowned as well, confusion clear on her features. Clary shook her head then. “That’s impossible,” she said. Her eyes seemed to fix on something else, something behind Izzy, and she sighed. 

“Listen… I have to go and find Max and my mom,” Izzy whispered, letting her hand gently caress over Clary’s arm. Clary seemed to barely be able to listen to her. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Clary muttered. 

Clary looked down, as Izzy walked away from her and back into the crowd. Clary huffed, looking around the room. She didn’t know anyone and every second that passed she felt less welcome.

Especially when she caught sight of Jace and Simon laughing, sending disgusted and mocking glances in her direction. Pain, and anger, rose through her, like a match had been taken to her and lit. 

She took a deep breath, and started walking towards them. She was going to hurt them. She was going to burn down the rest of whatever friendship or brotherly bond she’d ever felt with them. If they saw her as a monster, well, she was going to be a monster and hurt them. 

Tears were brimming in her eyes and they distorted the corners of the image of her brother and her best friend, as they laughed at her and called her names, barely even trying not to get noticed by her.

She walked to them, wondering if her nails could do damage to a Shadowhunter and a vampire, when Magnus stopped her. 

“Slow down, hotshot,” he said, grabbing her arms and physically keeping her from moving forward.

“Get out of my way, Magnus!” Clary snapped. Her voice was furious, and tears were falling down her cheeks again. She hated it. She wished feelings didn’t make her cry. She looked pathetic every time she had an emotion that was a little too strong.

“Oh, no,” Magnus grabbed her a little harder. “I'm not letting you make a scene. This is an elegant affair, not an episode of  _ The Real Housewives of Idris _ .” 

For a moment, Clary’s head focused on whether  _ The Real Housewives of Idris _ was a real thing or not. And if so, would Maryse qualify? Probably. She shook her head. 

“Tell Jace and Simon that, because I can't stand here while they laugh at me and tell everyone I’m a monster!” Clary exclaimed.

Magnus frowned, sending a glance behind himself. “Simon’s not here, Clary,” he said softly. “I wasn’t going to invite him to deal with an apartment full of Shadowhunters. Not all of us have to go through  _ that. _ ” 

Not far from them, they heard Izzy, calling out for Jace. “Jace, I've been looking everywhere for Mom and Max. Have you…” 

“Maryse just tried to kill me,” Jace muttered, distress written all over his face.

“What?” Izzy replied, echoing Magnus and Clary’s confusion.

Izzy followed Jace into the spare bedroom, and as the door slid shut behind her, Magnus spotted Maryse’s body laying on the rug, looking quite… unconscious. Nothing made sense. Magnus frowned. Clary was seeing Simon when he wasn’t there, Maryse had seemingly tried to kill Jace… Something was very, very wrong.

Clary wasn’t paying attention very much, actually, Magnus realized. She was struggling in his grasp, and trying to get away from him. “Magnus, I can't stay here, okay? Everyone is acting completely insane. I have to leave!” She almost shouted.

“Not while you're hallucinating,” Magnus sighed. “Stay right here while I figure out what's going on.” 

Alec was… buzzed. 

He’d been enjoying the evening greatly, drinking more than one of Maia’s delicious cocktails, and chatting with everyone. At first, it had been a little complicated to manage everyone’s feelings about being in the home of a warlock, but he’d succeeded in having as many guests as possible be content and drinking. 

He almost took it as a personal failure when he saw Clary, eyes glaring daggers and her entire body tensed in one tight fist. She looked angry, and the tears in her eyes also showed a lot of pain. That wouldn’t do. This was a happy event, one that Alec would be happy to throw her if she ever went through her rune ceremony.

He walked up to her, stopping her before she could even reach the door. 

“Hey,” Alec smiled at her. “Are you leaving?” 

She whipped around and her eyes seemed to burn into his soul, hatred heavy in them. It felt like a slap, and he didn’t understand why she was so angry. 

“I have to,” Clary replied, venom dripping from her words. Alec frowned. He’d seen her laughing earlier. He’d seen Izzy too, and they’d seemed happy. What had happened to change Clary’s mood so violently? “Seeing you here,” she continued, anger and disgust clear in the snarl of her mouth. “Drink in hand, all smiles, it makes me  _ sick _ .” 

The buzz had been drained out of Alec’s body by her words. She had turned against him. She was mad at him. He held up his hand, stopping her as she walked towards him, pacing like a predator.

“What are you talking about?” 

She tilted her head to the side, her lips screwed in a disgusted wince. “I'm talking about you  _ killing my mom _ .” 

Alec’s entire world seemed to come to a violent stop. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Guilt rushed through his body, twisting his guts violently, nausea rising in his throat. Her rage, her pain, her grief… It was burning. 

He couldn’t answer. All he could do was run.

He walked away from her, deeper into the party. Everything seemed to blur around him as the guilt and shame took over. He wanted to scream. He wanted it to stop. He had… he had killed someone. He had killed Jace’s mom, and Clary’s too. He could almost see her blood still soaking his hands. He could almost smell death and sulfur still on his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 24, Love Is a Devil Part 3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
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	24. Love Is A Devil Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter Love Is A Devil Part III. Just as in the show, the scene on the ledge is kept. Be careful if you have issues with talks of suicide and suicide attempts!
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy this!

Jace pushed the pain of knowing Maryse hated him away as the door closed behind Izzy. Izzy’s eyes widened as she saw her mother laying on the ground, unmoving, seemingly asleep. There was no blood pooling behind her head, and Jace guessed her skull wasn’t broken. 

Maryse’s face was relaxed now, and Jace realized how much Izzy looked like her. 

“Oh, my God. Jace, what did you do?” Izzy exclaimed, rushing to her mother’s side. They were so obviously a family. Jace swallowed. How could he even believe that he was part of them when he looked nothing like them? 

His eyes were wrong, blue and brown, like the demon blood had turned them from homochromatic to heterochromatic, as if they were an outward trace of the corruption in his veins. He was too blond, too pale, too different from the Lightwoods, their dark hair and dark eyes.

Hell, he didn’t even look much like Clary, even if she was his sister. 

“I told you, Izzy,” Jace huffed. “I didn't have a choice.” 

The door opened again and Magnus stepped into the room. His eyes settled on Maryse and he sighed.

“Okay, the cocktails may have been too strong,” he muttered as he got to the side of Izzy and started examining Maryse. 

Jace looked at the man with a frown. “She just tried to kill me, Magnus,” he explained, cold and angry. He couldn’t believe that the warlock was making jokes and pretending that this wasn’t horrible, that this wasn’t… wrong.

Magnus stared at him like he was a monster. And so did Izzy. Her eyes were full of betrayal and fear. She seemed to be scared of him. Of his behavior. Jace struggled to breathe in.

“This will help.” Magnus moved, crouching next to Maryse’s face, and let the blue haze of his magic drift over her. 

Jace felt like he was going insane. They didn’t believe him. It was obvious they didn’t, that they were siding with Maryse. He couldn’t stand it. Agitated, he looked around for some sort of proof. 

“She just threw an ax at my head,” Jace finally blurted out. “Okay, it's stuck in the shelf, right there. See for yourself.” 

The throwing axe was still stuck in the wood of the shelves. It was obviously a Shadowhunter weapon, bright steel and adamas mixed, with runes carved into the end of the pommel, black leather grip and a sharpened spike on the rear.

He gestured towards it, and when he looked back, Izzy was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Jace, there's nothing there,” she pointed out, a little distressed. 

Jace shook his head. Were they even trying? “It's right there. Why can't you see that?” 

They were all against him. They were all pushing to have him be insane, to make sure that he knew he wasn’t part of the family anymore. For harming Maryse, he would get into trouble with the Clave, and he was already on too-thin ice from being Valentine’s son, and from what he’d done before.

He would end up in the City of Bones again, or the Gard, and then he would just go slowly insane, away from anyone he had ever called family, away from people he loved, if he could even love. He was a demon after all, a monster. Maybe love was not part of his emotional arsenal.

Maryse suddenly took a pained, shallow breath, her entire upper body seizing as Magnus’ magic finished healing her. She shifted, her body finally moving after what had seemed to Jace like an hour of her lying there almost lifeless. 

“Mom, are you okay?” Izzy asked, worried.

Maryse caught sight of him and she immediately got to her feet, Izzy and Magnus helping her to regain her balance.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jace shook his head and tried to get them to stop.”Don't let her up. She's out of her mind.” 

Maryse’s face was distorted in fear and anger and distress. Her hair was askew, her dress rumpled and she looked at him like he wasn’t Jace, like he wasn’t the boy she’d raised from the second he’d come into the New York Institute, on May 25th, 2005. 

“Jace,” she almost shouted his name, “I came up here to apologize to you!”

Jace blinked. 

Izzy frowned. “Then, why would you…” 

Maryse’ entire body changed position, and her voice got venomous. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” She hissed.

Jace shook his head. A headache was pounding into his skull and distorting the edge of his vision. Maybe Maryse had gotten a hit at him while they were fighting earlier. 

“She just said it,” Jace exclaimed, getting frantic. “Don't you hear her?” 

Magnus looked at him with a frown. Something seemed to click for the warlock, and he took a gentle step forward. His voice came out soothing, but firm, telling him to quit his bullshit as much as it told him that everything was okay. 

“Listen to me,” Magnus said. “Nobody's trying to kill you.” Jace shook his head but it didn’t keep Magnus from carrying on talking. “You have to believe me. Someone's playing with our minds. Feeding into our insecurities…”

They didn’t have time to continue the conversation or ask him what he was saying. Clary’s voice resounded from outside, loud, and deeply, deeply distressed.

“Alec!” She cried. “Alec, no!”

Jace’s blood froze. What was Alec doing to Clary? What was Clary doing to Alec? Why was she screaming? 

Alec could feel the wind on his face, cleansing him of the blood and the sulfur. The night was advanced enough that the wind was cold, the kind that made his eyes water from the temperature and the strength of it. He’d never really noticed that the balcony of Magnus’ terrace was so high, and that it was so close to cleansing winds. 

It was good. It was right. He stood on the ledge of the balcony, and looked at the street down below. That felt… right, he guessed. He needed to cleanse himself of what he’d done, cleanse the world of what he’d done to Jocelyn. There was the stain on the universe where his existence was. He had to get rid of it.

Clary glared at him, her voice harsh like Izzy’s whip, snapping over and over, hurting him even more every time. It was right. It was penitence, wasn’t it? Things came to those who deserved them, and he deserved death. He deserved as painful and upsetting a death as Jocelyn’s had been, at his hand.

“You're a murderer, Alec,” Clary said. She was right. The street below was busy, but it wasn’t as angry as her, and it was much calmer and better than the world because of him. He’d hurt so many people. He’d killed Clary and Jace’s mom. He’d murdered a fellow Shadowhunter. “Nothing more. Why are you still here?” 

Those weren’t thoughts he’d had before but they felt right in his head. They felt like they belonged there. They felt like he was saying those things, not Clary, and maybe he was. But she was too. 

Clary took a step closer as he turned around to face her. If he was going to die, then he was going to die facing the one he’d wronged. 

“All those times you told me I wasn't a good Shadowhunter…” 

Clary’s life would be so much better if he wasn’t in it. She would still have her mother then, if he’d just died when Circle members had attacked them in Camille’s home. Maybe he should have just died already. Maybe he should just die already.

“I know... I know you wish I was dead instead of Jocelyn.” 

Clary didn’t reply. She just kept snarling at him. “You let a demon possess you? You're  _ weak _ .”

She sounded right. She was right. He was weak, he was wrong, he’d hurt so many people because he wasn’t strong enough. His mom would prefer having Jace as a first born, or even Izzy. Even Magnus, even Magnus would be so much better without him. He was so weak, so wrong, so… 

“Nobody's gonna miss you,” Clary snarled. She was right. They would mourn him for a moment and they would keep going. Izzy was strong enough to keep going without their parabatai bond. Jace was strong too, and he had Clary and Izzy. Max would barely even remember him. “ _ Weak _ . The guilt must be eating you alive.” 

Alec took a deep breath.

_ Murderer.  _

He closed his eyes, and let himself go. It would be okay.

“Alec!”

Magnus shoved the door open right as Clary screamed Alec’s name. He saw him, the man that he cared so much about, eyes closed, falling from the ledge. Magnus’ heart broke, froze, so many things at once, just a pain in his chest exploding. His magic threw itself around Alec, barely under Magnus’ control. 

Fear froze his mind, but his magic was independent enough to act.

Alec’s eyes stayed closed as Magnus’ magic held him in the sky, and guided his body back to the floor of the balcony. The magic cradled him tenderly, and laid him against the balcony, asleep. 

Magnus started to breathe when Alec was safely down. He barely had time to get his mind together when the door opened on Izzy and Jace. 

“By the Angel!” Isabelle exclaimed. “What happened?” 

Both she and Jace rushed to Alec, immediately touching him, searching for any sort of wound.

“All of a sudden, he started talking about how I hated him for killing my mom,” Clary explained. Her voice was shaky and upset.

Magnus’ brain started to work again then. Alec, Jace and Clary had been victims to a spell. There was no real other explanation for the behavior. Magnus and Alec had talked, a lot, about what he’d done, about how he felt about it. Magnus hadn’t thought he could be suicidal. 

He knew better than to assume that because Alec didn’t tell him didn’t mean that he didn’t have those urges but… it had never been that bad. Maybe he should have told him to go see Catarina, Magnus thought. He shook the thought away. It wasn’t the time for this. He needed to find the spell’s provenance, and stop it from making everyone kill each other or themselves. He wouldn’t have a slaughter in his home.

“Alec?!” Maryse’s voice resounded. She came running. She’d kicked off her shoes, Magnus noticed, and she was running barefoot onto the terracotta. 

“It's okay,” Magnus announced. “I sedated him when I pulled him from the ledge.” 

Maryse’s eyes were wide, searching. She was afraid. Magnus understood. He had been afraid too. He still was, even if he pushed it all down as hard as he could. 

Jace glared at Maryse when she crouched next to her son. “You know what,” he hissed, shoving her back. “You stay away from him. You can't be trusted.” 

“I can't be trusted?” Maryse snapped back, anger and fear making her voice rise uncontrollably. Magnus had never seen her like this. Maryse was always controlled, especially around people that weren’t family. “Now you see why I was wary of having a party at a _ warlock's _ house.”

Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes and stood up. That was what he deserved for having empathy for that woman.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Clary asked, seemingly close to tears.

“You're all gonna be okay,” Magnus nodded. He needed his spellbook. He needed to get this sorted out before they killed each other. Especially Jace and Maryse. “Everyone just stay here. I'll be right back.”

Magnus ran down the thin, spiral staircase to the main part of the loft. Shadowhunters filled his home, and Magnus was still made uncomfortable by their presence, but now he had something to do. 

He rushed to a cabinet in one of the hallways, opening the ornate wood panels of the furniture. Behind it was his safe. It was concrete, imbued in layers upon layers of magic, tech and the strongest materials. 

The unlocking mechanism was circular. It looked like a large golden plate, with two suns superimposed on it, and each ray separating a different letter of a demonic language. It was Edomai, the language Magnus had learned for almost a century with his father. It was his father tongue, and there weren’t many warlocks that could even read the letters, let alone have the right demonic signature to open the safe.

Only a child of Asmodeus could ever open this safe. And as far as Magnus knew, he was the only one still alive. 

He unlocked the safe with a few gestures, and grabbed the spellbook out of it. It was old, leatherbound, and if someone looked through it they could see a child’s handwriting, unused to a quill, writing in a strange mixture of Dutch and Indonesian, evolve into a man’s handwriting, deft and elegant, writing in demonic languages, English, French, Latin, Hebrew… Many of the dead and live languages. 

It was another of Magnus’ keepsakes, of the souvenirs of Edom. He loved and hated it. 

Magnus rushed up the stairs again. As he stepped back onto the balcony, everyone had started fighting again. He started flipping through the pages. He knew he had one of those spells that undid anyone else’s work in there. He rarely used it, having too much respect for his people’s craft, too big of an awareness of what nullifying someone else’s power represented.

He needed to tweak it a little to make sure it worked for this spell. 

“ _ Banit, soit l'esprit qui leur a donné le sens de l'insécurité, ils s'oublient! _ ” His French was rusty but he felt it work somehow. Magnus grabbed at the air, his magic pulling the spell of the foreign magic from the atmosphere.

Suddenly it felt like a weight had been lifted from everyone’s chest. They looked at each other, frowning. 

Maryse’s eyes were wide, as she realized what the spell had done. Jace had tears in his eyes, shocking even Magnus.

“Mom…” Jace whispered, looking at Maryse. Magnus felt almost uncomfortable looking at them.

He could breathe a little easier now that the spell was broken. He hoped no one in the party downstairs had hurt someone else. His entire body felt a little heavy, tired from the adrenaline and the spell breaking. He barely registered as everyone around him started apologizing to each other.

Alec was slowly waking up, eyes half-open and bleary. Magnus swallowed. Maryse rushed to her son’s side, and Magnus stayed back, just looking at him, just waiting for him to come back to his senses. He couldn’t stand the idea that he’d almost lost him forever. 

Magnus was aware that Alec was mortal, but he… he dared to hope that Alec would be by his side for a couple of decades before he had to lose him. Seeing his eyes close as he let himself go had tore Magnus’ heart out of his chest.

Magnus sighed softly and slammed his spellbook shut. Just as the pages hit each other, the book disappeared from his hands and again, Magnus’ heart stopped. This had all been a trap. His instincts were screaming at him that he’d fallen into it like a child. 

“Someone has taken my spellbook,” Magnus growled. 

As the rest of the group turned to him, Magnus raised his wards. They shone like blown glass around his home, golden and distorting the view of the outside. 

“You're putting your wards up?” Maryse asked, surprise and suspicion clear in her voice.

Magnus waved away that comment. “Nobody leaves until I get it back.”

Once again, he rushed down to the main level of the loft. There were Shadowhunters there, who stared at him like he had killed one of their own in front of him. The wards had made them uncomfortable, made them feel trapped. If they had thought being in a warlock’s home was dangerous before, they were probably close to trying to kill him now. 

Magnus sighed, and started to explain the situation as much as he could. 

Alec, Jace, Clary, Izzy and Maryse came back down from the terrace as Magnus was scanning the last of the Shadowhunters around them. The Downworlders had been freed before the rest, Alec noticed. Smart.

They went through the remaining Shadowhunters, the Lightwoods serving as a way to keep the unhappy nephilim from being too rude to Magnus. Magnus appreciated it somewhat. He did not want to be called into the Head of Institute’s office because he’d hurt a racist asshole.

He sighed. Eventually they were all gone, all scanned and Magnus shook his head. This made no sense. There had to be another warlock here. No one else would be able to make his spellbook just disappear out of his hands like that.

“It appears I'm the only warlock here,” Magnus said, angry. He pulled the wards down, and cracked his knuckles. This was bad. Very bad.

“Magnus, what happens if we don't find your spellbook?” Clary asked, probably seeing how agitated he was. 

Nothing good, for sure. “That's not an option you want to explore,” Magnus snapped. He was too distressed to really care about being rude right about now. He couldn’t stop his mind from going through everything that could happen if people started using his book. “That book can undo every spell I've ever cast. From the elementary to the complex,” Magnus explained. “In new and old languages…” The language. 

The spell used had been in French. A weird sort of French, for sure, but still French. 

“Remind me, Clary,” Magnus asked. “Who was the warlock you went to when you tried to bring back your mother?” 

Clary swallowed heavily, licking her lips before replying. “Iris Rouse,” she whispered. “Why?”

Iris Rouse was one of the few warlocks of New York that he knew for a fact favored French spells. Sentimentality, he guessed, since she’d been born in Chamonix, France. 

“What did she make you pay for the spell?” Magnus asked. “Money? Jewels? Books?”

Clary shook his head. “Blood.”

Fuck. She’d done a fucking blood oath. Magnus shook his head.  _ Children who didn’t know what they were doing _ . Clary had been selfish and reckless and she’d probably gotten all of them into horrible trouble. 

“But she claimed her favor back! She… she…” 

Izzy pulled Clary closer, her arm tight around Clary’s waist, protective. “Rouse claimed her favor. She demanded Clary bear a demon’s child. Clary saved herself before it could happen.”

Magnus sighed heavily. “So the favor didn’t go through. Clary’s still bound to the oath.” 

These children didn’t know what they were doing. A blood oath to be finalized. Wriggling out of the favor, no matter how horrible the price, meant the oath wasn’t fulfilled. That was the issue with blood oaths, and Magnus knew that most warlocks with an ounce of morality avoided them like the plague.

He wasn’t surprised that Iris Rouse had used one. Iris Rouse. Iris had always liked French, and she’d always loved taking the form of a red-haired cat. Magnus sighed deeply. He had seen a red-haired cat hanging around the neighborhood in the last couple of days.

He pulled the wards back up suddenly, startling everyone. 

“Search for a cat. Red and white, hopefully still inside the loft.”

Everyone scattered immediately, Shadowhunters were used to acting on orders.They were efficient, he thought as the shouts of ‘clear’ started to resound through his apartment. He himself moved to his bedroom. Alec followed him there. 

There was a very still, but very obvious lump under the comforter of his bed, Magnus noticed. He sighed, and motioned at Alec to pull back the comforter, so they could see whether it was the cat or not.

Alec pulled it back suddenly and just as Magnus had thought, here it was. A red and white cat, who hissed at them, and started running off of the bed. Magnus threw a spell at it, forcing Iris back into her humanoid form.

The woman glared at him intently, and threw out a wave of magic. Magnus barely had time to put himself behind a shield. Alec was frozen into place suddenly like a statue, and he guessed so were the rest of the Shadowhunters in his home. 

“I hate party crashers,” Magnus growled. 

His offensive spell hit Iris square in the chest and sent her flying into some high bookshelves, which shattered violently as she hit them. She immediately fell to the ground surrounded by books. 

Magnus marched towards her, his magic buzzing at his fingertips. How dare she come after Clary in his apartment? How dare she throw a spell on his guests, push the man he cared about to suicide, and steal his spellbook?

Iris got to her feet and started running towards the closest door. Magnus almost rolled his eyes. Really? She should have just tried to go before she was found out. He made a show of slamming the doors shut from afar right as she reached them, a snarl almost curling at his lips.

His blood was singing with the thrill of a fight, his anger burned his body lightly, and he realized that he hadn’t been in a good magical brawl in a long, long time. Too bad Iris was far from being at his level.

He sent bursts of magic after bursts of magic, bricks and tables shattering as they missed Iris by a thread. Magnus could feel himself pulsing with energy, a smile curling lightly at his lips now.

Iris finally managed to try and attack him back, and he dodged or deflected every one of her spells. 

Eventually, Magnus decided that he was tired of it. He pulled and grabbed at his magic, the catching spell wrapping tightly around Iris as it hit her. It was like a coil of gold energy around her middle, keeping her arms firmly to her side, as if she’d been caught in a lasso.

Magnus accentuated the pressure, crushing her lightly inside of the coil of magic. Her eyes went wide, fear and pain clear in them. He almost purred. 

“You haven't changed one bit since the last time I saw you crawling from the ruins of la Bastille,” Magnus growled, full of satisfaction at seeing his enemy subdued, and with little effort on his part, if he was honest. Iris was about a century older than him but her warlock parent hadn’t exactly been as powerful as Magnus’. And genetics counted a lot, when it came to the amount of power a warlock could harness. “Old French spells,” he tutted. “Your favorite.”

Iris whimpered, her feet barely scraping the floor as he pulled her upwards. 

“Where are my counterspells?” Magnus demanded. 

Iris groaned in pain, struggling to breathe in to speak. She didn’t even try to resist, however. Coward, Magnus thought. 

“Valentine!” Iris cried out. “He has Madzie, too,” she added, breathless. “My goddaughter. If I don't go back, I don't know what he'll do to her.” 

Magnus’ rage disappeared, snuffed out like a flame when blown upon. A child. Valentine held a warlock child hostage. Iris knew that if there was one thing that would keep Magnus from killing her, or sending her to a painful fate, it would be a child. She was right. 

He pushed back the thought for a moment, focusing on the rest. “What does Valentine want with my counterspells?” He asked.

Iris panted. “I don't know.”

That would not do. He accentuated the pressure around her again, almost enough so he could start hearing bone creak. Iris yelled in pain, red cat ears flashing in and out of existence as her glamour failed her.

“I don't know!” She cried out. Magnus went back to just holding her. Iris took in a deep, pained breath, looking at him. “All... All he said was that I had to get them for him. And I wasn't to harm Clary, or he'd make Madzie suffer.”

So it wasn’t about Clary’s blood oath. That didn’t mean that the oath wasn’t still holding Clary accountable though. They would definitely need to deal with that. 

“Magnus, please,” Iris begged. “I'm all Madzie has. Have mercy.”

Mercy? After the spell she’d thrown on the party, and what she’d asked of Clary? After what Magnus had seen in her home, the records of the women she’d had raped by her demons to make warlock children? Magnus had investigated her of course, when he’d been told about her actions. It disgusted him.

“After everything you've done?” Magnus asked, shaking his head.

But there was Madzie. A child, hostage to Valentine, probably being tortured. That was too big a reason for Magnus to let Iris go. He wouldn’t have the pain or death of a child on his hands if he could help it.

“Release them,” he said, gesturing towards Jace, who was frozen into place in a crouching position as he looked under a table.

Iris stared at him for a second before she obeyed. Jace fell forward, barely managing to catch himself before hitting the floor. The rest of the group came running into the living room of the loft, eyes wide at the destruction around them.

Iris’ eyes settled on Clary. “Clarissa Morgenstern…” Iris panted, staring at her. “You made a blood oath. Find Madzie,” she ordered. 

For a moment, Magnus wondered where to send her. But the memories of the horrors he’d seen in her house kept him from freeing her completely. The Shadowhunters would find Madzie.

With one of his hands still holding her prisoner, he opened a portal and sent Iris through it. He closed it before he could see a glimpse of what was happening behind it. He sighed heavily. 

“She's the Clave's problem now.”

Sending her to a French Institute where she was heavily researched as a criminal wasn’t the most merciful of things for him to do, but he couldn’t stand the idea of being responsible for more of Rouse’s experiments. 

He turned back towards the group, who stared at him, a bit dazed.

Alec was the first to speak after that. He was right into the work immediately, brain already working to find solutions. Magnus admired him for that, but he knew he would crash later. “Okay, what is Valentine up to anyway?”

“He has the Soul Sword and there is…” Clary stopped for a moment. “I don’t know what the Clave told you.”

Magnus sighed deeply. “Just imagine that they told us nothing. That’s usually the need-to-know level we’re on.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone. He was tired, and his filter was off. 

“Valentine had the Angel Ithuriel trapped,” Clary started. “We don’t know how long he had him but… Valentine was going to use him to activate the Soul Sword. He needs someone with more angel blood to activate it.” 

Magnus blinked. That was way too much information, in way too little time. An Angel, trapped by Valentine. The Soul Sword, activated by angel blood. 

“What will it do if it’s activated?” Magnus asked, crossing his arms.

“Decimate the entire Downworld,” Jace swallowed. “A ray of light, slaughtering everyone, and making the Earth a demon-free place,” he explained. 

So the Clave had just forgotten to warn the Shadow Kinds about a weapon of mass genocide that was in the hands of the one person that would use it without even blinking and caring about who they were killing. 

He shouldn’t be this surprised. This was the usual way of things. The Clave hid away everything that the Shadow People needed to know to survive, and then blamed them for their recklessness.

“However,” Clary added. “The Angel showed us a vision of a demon who could destroy the Sword. If we could find that demon, we could stop Valentine.” 

Magnus shook his head. That was getting too much. He’d never heard of what the Soul Sword could do. Not that he was very close to many Shadowhunters, but he’d expected his friend Jem Carstairs to maybe have told him, if he’d been told about it when becoming a Silent Brother.

“What happened to the Angel?” He asked. “Does Valentine still have him?” 

“We freed him,” Clary continued. “With runes the Angel gave to me.” 

Magnus closed his eyes for a short moment. He didn’t have time to unpack all of that. He didn’t have time to see whether he was alright or not. 

“New runes, Magnus,” Jace whispered. “Ones nobody has ever seen before.” 

That wasn’t possible. New runes hadn’t been brought forward since the Gray Book was given to the Nephilim by Raziel, or so the stories went. The Angel had given the visions of runes to Clary. That reminded Magnus of something. Of some stories that Jem  _ had  _ told him. 

“Years ago,” Magnus started, sighing a little. “A Silent Brother told me about a special connection the original Shadowhunters had with the Angel Raziel. That they could communicate from afar through visions. Because they were created from his blood.” 

Clary’s eyes opened wide.

“I remember Valentine saying I had pure angel blood but…”

Magnus sighed deeply. “You may have a blood connection to Ithuriel. Considering Jace’s demon blood… It’s not that hard to imagine Valentine could have trapped Ithuriel to harvest his blood… To give it to your mother, the way he gave demon blood to Jace…” 

“That's why Valentine wants Clary unharmed,” Alec muttered, the realisation dawning on him just as it was dawning on the rest of the group. It hadn’t been paternal love, it hadn’t been Valentine’s twisted protectiveness over his bloodline. It had been for the Sword. “Clary can activate the Soul Sword.”

\---------------

Clary stood in the middle of the ceremony room. She’d never been in it for a happy event before, she realized. There had been Alec’s wedding to Lydia, something she’d dreaded happening, something she’d rebelled against the idea of. There had been her mother’s body laying on a table there, in the red-orange light of the stained glass. There had been the funeral.

Today, the ceremony room was almost empty, with only an altar and some candelabras. There were fewer people too. Those who had been invited to the party the night before weren’t necessarily invited to the very intimate ceremony.

Clary was one of the few. She didn’t understand why really, but she guessed Jace had probably interceded in her favor. After all, he was basically an honorary Lightwood, and she was his sister.

He stood by her right side, watching as Max walked into the room. They were all dressed in black, except for Maryse who was dressed in white. Her child was becoming an adult, and she was mourning his childhood according to tradition. Clary couldn’t help but find it just a tiny bit creepy.

Izzy stood on the other side of the room, solemn in her floor-length black dress. Her eyes were grinning, more than her smile really was. Her lipstick was even redder than usual it seemed. 

Clary smiled at her.

As Max reached the middle of the room, Alec joined him. 

The Silent Brothers still made shivers of disgust and fear run down Clary’s spine. She hoped never to be a prisoner in the City of Bones. She would surely die there. She shot Jace a look. He hadn’t talked much about what he’d been through. He’d been so focused on dealing with her issues, then Izzy’s… Aldertree’s horrible behavior towards him… All the distractions kept him from feeling. 

As Max walked past the two of them, Jace winked at him. Clary couldn’t help her smile when, adorably, Max blinked back, not really knowing how to wink, it seemed. Alec was close behind his little brother as he walked up the steps to the altar and stood in front of the Silent Brother. 

Surprisingly, Alec was looking at Clary. His eyes were full of unspoken apologies, full of regret and she smiled at him, just a little, just to reassure him.

Maryse took a step forward, and pressed a kiss to Max’s forehead. 

Max took a deep, solemn breath, looking up at the Silent Brother and started to speak. 

“To the Angel I entrust my life,” he started, with the precision of a child who had learned a text by heart. “And vow to uphold the laws of Heaven.” 

Clary bit her lip. On her hand was the Remembrance rune, but there was no Angelic Power rune, there was no symbol like this on her. For a second, she felt empty, too out of this world. She didn’t feel like a Shadowhunter, not the same way the rest of them did. She was like an added piece to the Lightwood family, to the New York Institute, to the whole goddamn Shadow World. 

“I take this mark to honor Him,” Max continued, looking at Maryse, the Silent Brother and Alec in turn, searching for approval, perhaps. “To bring His light into me... And vow to uphold the laws of heaven. So I may join the ranks of the Shadowhunters: the guardians of peace.”

Max slid off his suit jacket and Maryse grabbed it, looking at him. Clary could almost see some sort of tears in her eyes. She’d never really seen Maryse as emotional as she’d been the night before and this morning.

Max carefully undid the button of his shirt sleeve and rolled it up, holding out his arm towards the Silent Brother. A loud sizzling sound resounded as the Silent Brother burnt the rune into Max’s arm. He winced, obviously in pain, and Clary couldn’t help but feel like it was… wrong. Hurting children like that, as a symbol that they were becoming soldiers? At twelve years old? 

Twelve wasn’t an age to be a soldier. 

Suddenly, it was all over, and the Lightwoods crowded around their youngest, beaming and cheering and happy for him. Jace looked down at Clary and she looked up at him. Her brother. Would he be there for her if she ever got her Angelic Power Rune? 

His eyes got more worried as he looked at her, turned to her to mutter. “Are you...” 

Clary swallowed. “Valentine's coming for me. I know.” She could feel that this moment was the last moment where they could be safe, where they could breathe.

“Which means I'm never letting you out of my sight,” Jace replied, firm, almost cold in how martial he was. 

Clary could only nod. She was glad. She was so glad she wasn’t alone in this. 

Eventually they walked out of the room, and Alec was waiting for them outside, leaning in his dark suit against the wooden panels of the walls.

“The ceremony was beautiful,” Clary breathed as they came up to Alec.

“Yeah, Max did great, huh?” Jace grinned. He was almost relaxed, which was nice. 

“Didn't even flinch,” Alec nodded. He beamed with pride for a moment, stood so tall, almost like the statue of Raziel that Clary had seen in the City of Bones, what seemed like lifetimes ago, but was actually only around five months.

Jace caught sight of Maryse, who stood a bit farther into the corridor and left Alec and Clary alone.

Alec was now avoiding looking at her in the eyes, and she couldn’t stop herself from speaking out. She needed to put everything they’d been through behind them. She wished she could erase the shame and guilt he felt. But she couldn’t. All she could do was forgive him.

“Alec,” she started, quiet in the corridor. “Whatever you heard me say when you were under the spell…” He looked away from her, eyes closing, jaw setting, as if he was preparing to be hit. “You have to know, I don't blame you for my mom.”

He looked at her suddenly, and she could feel that he couldn’t believe what she was saying. And yet… It was the truth. Clary couldn’t really find another way to tell him, so she just looked right into his eyes and repeated it.

“I don't.” 

For a moment, he stayed incredibly still, and she waited for him to react, breathless. And then he smiled. It tugged shyly at a corner of his mouth, and it made Clary exhale in relief. He nodded, didn’t say anything else.

His right hand unclasped from where he held it behind his back and gently went to rest on her shoulder. She reached up, her hand finding its place on his arm. It was probably like that to be his sister, she thought. Alec was quiet, but he was steady. And she could maybe feel a hint of what Izzy felt around him.

Clary nodded back, and bid her goodbyes. He probably had family matters to discuss with Maryse, and she needed to find Izzy, and kiss her breathless. She needed to ask her if she would be there the day of her own rune ceremony. She needed… to take off the black dress she wore, and the black heels and put some ripped jeans and boots back on.

Jace swallowed as he saw Clary walk away from Alec, as he walked himself closer to Maryse. She wasn’t looking at him, rather staring at her phone with an air on her face he’d never seen on her before. She looked heart-broken. That wasn’t an emotion that Maryse ever showed her children. That worried him.

Was it because of him? Because of what he’d done, attacking her so violently, so demon-like, at Max’s rune ceremony party? Proving himself to be just as monstrous as she said he was?

“Maryse, look,” he started, controlling his breathing as much as he could. “I... I just want you to know…”

“I don't need any more apologies.” Maryse shook her head, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence.

Fuck. Jace’s mind started swimming, overwhelmed. He looked down. It was punishment time. Where would she hit him? Which part of him would be the quickest to heal? Which part of him could be marked in a way that imitated a hunting wound closely enough that others wouldn’t call attention to it? He wasn’t ready for this. Maryse had never done this to him. Why now? Was he really that bad? Was he really that monstrous? Tears rose to his eyes, bile to his throat. He’d failed for the last time. Good for nothing.

“Because you don't owe me one,” Maryse continued, and Jace almost puked from the whiplash. “I don't regret taking you in for _ one second _ .” Her words made the tears that welled in Jace’s eyes threaten to spill over, and he had to struggle to bring himself back in. When he looked at her, he noticed the redness around her eyes, the way they shone with tears just as his did.

“Max was totally out of line, because I have been out of line,” Maryse continued, sobs muting her voice, making it catch in her throat. “As a parent,” she added, reaching to touch his face, and he didn’t flinch away. He leaned into her. She called herself a parent, maybe his parent. His mom. “Your greatest hope is that your children don't inherit your worst traits.” 

He saw the guilt in her eyes, and he chuckled a little, pulling part of her burden to him, taking it on. 

“Yeah, well, Max is still young,” he whispered. “Impressionable. You can still steer that ship straight.”

She watched him with an amount of gratitude and love that made him feel almost smothered. She’d never really looked at anyone like that. She’d never been this emotional. Jace could still feel something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to ask it. He wasn’t good with feelings. 

Alec came walking towards them then. He’d always been the one that asked bluntly about feelings. When Izzy and Jace would keep grudges, bury everything deep inside and pout for days, Alec would sit them down and coax their pains and anger out of them. They’d sobbed into his shoulder many times. 

Maryse took a step back from him when Alec stopped next to them. 

Alec sighed, deeply, tired. It had been an eventful couple of days, for all of them. 

“Max says that you and Dad have been fighting,” Alec started. His voice was tight, and Jace could feel that he was preparing himself for a fight. He swallowed, tightening his jaw. He’d relaxed for a second there, but it was long gone by the time Alec finished his sentence.

“About me and Magnus.” 

Maryse shook her head, a heavy sigh exhaled out of her mouth. “Max doesn't have any idea what's going on between your father and me.” She sounded so heavy and sad. Jace struggled to reconcile this version of his mother with the one he’d known for the last eleven years of his life. 

“Then what is it?” Alec asked, blunt and firm.

She looked at Jace for a second, then back at Alec. She pulled her shoulders back, pushed her chin high, and he could see her pride refusing the onslaught of emotion that threatened to take her down.

“I didn't want to burden you all…”

What? 

Maryse opened her mouth again, to speak, to explain, but closed it. The tears in her eyes started welling closer to her eyelashes. She took a deep, laboured breath, struggling with her proud appearance, struggling to keep herself together in front of her children. She couldn’t talk.

Alec closed his eyes for a second. He took a step closer. “Is Dad cheating on you?” His voice was quiet, full of fear.

Maryse’s mask cracked, fell into pieces. Her chin trembled with the pain, with the sorrow that she seemed to be barely able to contain. Jace knew Alec was right as he saw his mother fall apart. 

“Bastard,” Jace swore.

Maryse swallowed, and as tears started to fall, she swept them away with firm, composed gestures. 

“You can't tell Isabelle,” was the first thing she said. It was in her loud, ordering voice, the one she usually used with them, but the tears that underlined it were like a bed of rocks, made her voice bump over them. “She worships Robert. I can bear it, but it would destroy her.”

She sounded so strong, so… ready for a fight then.  _ I can bear it _ . She didn’t have to. She didn’t have to bear her husband betraying her like that. She looked at the floor, at their shoes, at anywhere but them.

Alec moved forward. He wrapped his arms around her, the way he usually did with Jace or Izzy, and held her. Jace watched his mother fall apart on his brother’s shoulder, sobbing even as she struggled not to. 

A part of him immediately screamed for blood. Robert had to pay for what he was doing, for how he was breaking their mom. 

“Come stay with us,” Alec said, gentle against her. “You and Max. You don't have to go back to Idris or Dad.”

Maryse sighed, a heartbreaking long sigh. She grabbed at Alec, for a moment, eyes closing. “Oh…” She sobbed. Her voice was much higher now, broken. “I wish I could stay... More than anything.” She breathed heavily and she moved away from Alec.

Jace could see his brother’s face, struggling to hold in his own emotion. Maryse smoothed down her dress, as proud as ever. 

“But I have to get back to the Clave.”

“Why?” Jace asked. He couldn’t stand to see her like that, to see duty forcing her to handle more pain. “Let Robert take care of that.”

“Everything's different now because of Clary and the Sword,” Maryse explained, sorrowful. “I can't let my problems interfere with my duty,” she said, firm and strong, almost sounding like the commander Jace had known growing up. “Not now.” 

He nodded. Alec sighed softly, nodding as well. They both knew it. They were Shadowhunters. Duty came before all. 

That didn’t mean that the second the war was over, Jace wouldn’t have a talk with Robert. He could see in Alec’s eyes that he thought the exact same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 25, Bound By Blood Part 1
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
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	25. Bound By Blood Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter Bound By Blood Part I! 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy this!

Izzy laid underneath Clary, her black hair splayed over the pillow like a dark halo. Her eyes were wide, curious, devouring Clary’s face and upper body as her hands travelled over her clothed form, exploring an unknown silhouette.

She was still wearing her lipstick, the red a little faded as they’d been kissing for a while now. Clary didn’t know how long. She wasn’t really timing how long her makeout session was. 

She was completely wrapped up in Izzy, in her hands and the way she looked at her, on how gorgeous she was and how curious she seemed to be about Clary’s body, about kissing her. Clary was loving her experimenting side. She was almost scientific about it, broad strokes followed by smaller, more focused touches. It was fun.

Izzy’s left hand was currently on Clary’s ass, grabbing a little through her jeans, as the other held Clary’s face and brought her closer to kiss her more. Izzy’s perfume was strong, heady like incense, and Clary felt like she could stay for hours in this little bubble of perfume and Isabelle. 

They’d basically ran to the bedroom to make out, Izzy giggling like a teenager, after Maryse had left for Idris again. Not really being able to kiss and touch each other for the last few days had been like torture. 

And now here they were. And Clary couldn’t stop smiling. 

There were so many things she wanted to do with Izzy. First dates. Pride. Kissing in public. Holding hands around town, or around the Institute. Watching mundane movies. Showing her some of her favorite ice cream places. Going shopping. From the most mundane to the most unusual things, everyday things and once in a year, or in a lifetime, events. Clary wanted them all, with Izzy by her side.

She felt Izzy’s hands on her, grabbing a little tighter before she suddenly switched them over. Clary giggled as her back hit the bed and leaned up to capture Izzy’s lips in another kiss.

She stopped moving the second the door opened. 

“Fuck!” Izzy gasped, letting herself fall back and away from Clary.

Jace stood by the door. He had a slightly disgusted, and slightly impressed look on his face. Clary grabbed her open shirt and pulled it closed. She had no desire to have her brother see her bra.

Izzy was less modest, but she looked surprised and a little put off. “Why did you not knock, exactly?” She asked, crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow.

“I forgot about you two,” Jace admitted, crossing his arms as well and looking at the two of them. “Aldertree requested that you,” he pointed at Izzy. “Get to the Armory and help arm everyone we can arm. Older agents, office staff, everyone’s carrying a seraph blade from now on.” 

Izzy huffed. She moved to the front of the bed, sliding her feet into high-heeled shoes. She then stood up, pulling down her skirt and rectifying the position of her dress and bra, before she looked over at Clary. 

“How do I look?” She asked, winking.

Clary grinned at her. “Gorgeous, babe.” 

Jace rolled his eyes. “Stop being gross,” he huffed. “Wait…” He looked at Izzy for a moment. “Is that how you feel when I’m flirting with girls?”

Izzy nodded. “Yup. Exactly.” 

Jace sighed heavily. “I’m an asshole.” 

“Tell us something we don’t know?” Izzy teased, as she finished getting back to an appropriate appearance for the rest of the Institute. 

Clary threw her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing her own boots and tugging on the laces. “Where does Aldertree want me?” 

“Very far away,” Jace pointed out. “So, I’m gonna keep an eye on you while we do routine check-ups and I teach you how to write a fucking report. Yours are the worst thing I’ve ever read. It’s like a five-year-old wrote them.”

Clary rolled her eyes. “Please remember I was not raised like you,” she pointed out. “And this is annoying. I’d rather be helping everyone, than-”

Suddenly her hand was on fire. Clary cried out, looking down at the tips of her left-hand fingers. They burnt violently and deeply. It was like the fire was eating through her flesh, like she’d put her hand directly within the coals of a burning fire. 

“What the Hell?” She cried out, eyes widening as she saw her little finger turn black. 

The blackness, and the pain, seemed to spread from her little finger to her hand, then to the next finger. The skin was cracked, blood seeping from the crevices, and a fire-like glow seemed to come from the cracks. Her hand was burning itself, and by itself.

Clary groaned in pain as it kept spreading. 

“What’s going on?” Izzy asked, worry saturating her voice. Both she and Jace rushed to Clary’s side, holding her as they stared down at her hand. 

“I have no idea,” Clary whispered, grunting again at a sudden deep ache that seemed to spread around her palm. 

She felt like she was being burned alive. And she had no idea what was causing it. 

\-----------------------

Magnus had just finished tidying the kitchen. The loft was quiet, and for a moment, he almost forgot that he wasn’t alone there. 

Alec was standing on the balcony, looking down at the Brooklyn streets. Magnus couldn’t see his face but his back was tense, shoulders high, like he was preparing to take on the weight of the world. There was something attractive about it, in the strong line of this man that stood gazing over the city, tall and broad-shouldered. 

Magnus walked up to him, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the strong back that he very much enjoyed touching. Memories of the night before, and the ones before that, how they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other for very long after their first time, Alec almost more eager than Magnus.

After the nightmare that had been the end of the rune ceremony, Magnus had needed Alec, needed his body close, needed to feel that he was okay. It replayed in his head regularly, the door slamming open and Alec’s body falling over the edge, arms spread out in a T, almost like he was taking flight. 

He couldn’t imagine how it played in Alec’s mind. Magnus settled by Alec’s left side, his hand brushing gently over the man’s lower back. He expected Alec to turn and shoot him one of his signature bright and delighted smiles, everytime any sort of PDA was involved but… he didn’t. 

Instead he spoke in a quiet, solemn voice. “How many Downworlders do you think live in New York?” 

“Shadow People,” Magnus corrected quietly, and Alec nodded.

“Sorry. How many Shadow People do you think live in New York?” He repeated, using the correct terminology this time. 

Magnus sighed softly. He didn’t know, really. He knew the number of warlocks, he had to, considering that he was responsible for them, for their wellbeing and their safety, in the eyes of the Clave and of his people. But the rest… The Pack and the Clan were relatively secretive. And the Seelies… There was no real way to know how many of the Queen’s people were in the city. 

Magnus knew that the Institute kept an eye on the number of wolves and vampires. They probably kept track of the warlocks, too. Alec was so tense and resolute that he decided that right now wasn’t the time for a quip about the Clave’s controlling tendencies. He’d keep it for later.

“I don't know,” Magnus whispered. “But they're not all your responsibility.” 

Alec looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “But you are.” 

Magnus smiled. That was cute. Alec couldn’t imagine what Magnus had been through, the battles he’d seen. The things he had done. And he wanted to protect him. Magnus looked down for a second, feeling his face get a little hot. That was… very sweet of him. 

“I can take care of myself,” Magnus replied, smiling tenderly up at Alec. 

“Maybe…” Alec breathed. “But this is different. You may have lived through the fall of Rome, but even the Dark Ages couldn't have been this dark.” 

The fall of Rome had been over a millennium before Magnus’ birth. But of course, Alec didn’t know that. Very few were those who really knew when he’d been born. He preferred to keep it to himself. When he’d been young, he’d been ashamed of the power he had, of what it meant. Power grew with age, and to hide his father’s identity, he’d been careful to make himself seem much older than he really was.

Magnus wondered which date was written in his Clave file. Had they somehow managed to get their hands on the right date? Or approximate it correctly?

“Alexander…” Magnus whispered. “I know things may seem bleak, but…” He trailed off. Things were bad maybe, but nothing was as bad as what had almost happened a couple days ago. “Nothing was as devastating as seeing you standing on that ledge.” 

Alec immediately bristled, shaking his head. “It was the magic. I would never, never…” 

Magnus reached over, putting his hand gently on Alec’s. “I know, I know,” he reassured. “But magic can't create fears, only bring them out. I’m not saying that… you wanted to kill yourself, that you’ve been wanting it for a while. I’m just saying that… what Clary was saying to you, in that illusion… You had been saying to yourself, for a while.”

Alec swallowed. His eyes darted around the balcony, not settling anywhere. 

“Magnus…”

Magnus smiled a little. “Look, you don't have to explain yourself,” he added, looking at him. “I've been through it myself. Just promise you'll tell me if things ever get that bad.”

Alec looked at him finally. His eyes were full of relief. Magnus could only understand so little of what it was like to be a Naphil, but he knew pain, and he knew suicidal tendencies. He didn’t know many immortals who hadn’t been through depression at least once. 

Alec opened his mouth to speak again when the loft door opened. Magnus sighed heavily. This wasn’t the time for an interruption. He looked back at the entrance, and saw Jace, Clary and Isabelle there, Clary’s face contorted in a mask of pain. What had she done this time? 

“Don't you people have phones?” Magnus huffed, as he walked towards the three Shadowhunters. 

Clary opened her mouth to speak but she could only whimper slightly in pain. She was holding her wrist tightly, and when he walked closer, Magnus saw what was happening. Her hand was black, cracked, carbonized almost. And it seemed to be spreading. 

“We need your help,” Jace asked. “I’m sorry, we should have called, we just… we had no idea what to do.” 

Clary felt terrible about coming to Magnus’, about barging in like this, but the pain was… It was like her hand was on fire, but the burnt parts were even worse than hurting, they were numb. It was like the tips of her fingers, the parts farthest away from the spreading of the burn, were dead. 

What if her hand was burnt forever, dead forever? What if she could never hold a blade, a stele or a pencil, let alone draw, again? Her heart seemed to grow cold every time she thought about that, about never being able to draw again. 

Magnus raised a hand, stopping Jace from saying anything else. “Go sit on the couch,” he ordered, and Clary obeyed immediately. Isabelle sat by her side, holding her tightly. Clary could barely focus on that. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to will the pain away, but failing.

Jace hovered behind the couch, his face tight with worry and anger. Magnus guessed that was his response to worry, to fear. Anger and violence, killing everyone that could ever think of hurting those he loved. From what he could see at first glance, Clary looked to be the victim of a curse. Curses were lethal, if not handled properly. 

Magnus took Clary’s hand in his gently, making sure to only touch the still healthy skin. Alec hovered behind him, so close Magnus could almost feel his breath on his neck. That was incredibly distracting. 

Magnus focused back onto the hand in his. His magic reached out to the one hurting Clary, and wrapped around it, scanning for what it was. A curse, obviously, and a very strong French one, old and… blood-based. 

Clary watched as Magnus’ magic worked around her hand, but she couldn’t feel its effects. Maybe there were none, maybe it was working hard to heal her, she couldn’t tell. She could tell nothing, from her fingertips to halfway down her hand, where it started hurting again, gradually up until the expanding line of the curse, in between healthy skin and the cracked blackness of burnt flesh.

“La Chair Brulée,” Magnus spoke out, sighing deeply. They had little time to act. This was one of the most dangerous curses he knew, fast and merciless. A perfect trap put together by a powerful old warlock. 

“I'm guessing that's not a dessert,” Clary muttered in between pained little breaths. 

Magnus smiled at her, tense. “It means "the burnt flesh." It's an old blood oath curse,” he explained. 

Immediately, Alec jumped on it. “Then it must be Iris. She said you owed her a favor,” he told Clary, and Clary bit her lip. 

Clary looked at her hand, then back at the rest of the people in the room. Izzy was struggling to hide her worry, and Clary wished she wouldn’t look so sad. Jace was pacing, a predator trapped in a cage. He avoided looking at her, too, as if it would make it more real that she was in pain, that she was… cursed.

“At Max's party,” Clary said softly, remembering in between the bursts of pain. “She said I have to find Madzie.” Clary’s voice was pained and barely higher than a whisper, and it scared her to hear it. Everything scared her. She’d never felt this… helpless.

Madzie. The warlock child that Magnus had been trying to find after Iris had told them she was in Valentine’s clutches. He’d shaken the whole city to find her, and now Clary had to find her. Magnus didn’t know if the Clave’s resources would be enough to get to the girl in time. He hadn’t, and he was the goddamn High Warlock of Brooklyn. 

“Then we better get to it quickly,” Magnus pointed out. “I’ve been trying to find her since the party. My resources weren’t enough. It hasn’t been very long, but I’m afraid this will be much harder than walking into a park and finding her on a swing.”

Izzy swallowed next to Clary. “In the event that we don’t find her,” she said quietly, her voice firm and almost cold with how hard she tried to keep herself calm. “What’s going to happen to Clary?” 

Magnus sighed heavily. “Death,” he replied. He couldn’t exactly try and make it seem nicer than it actually was. He couldn’t try and soften the blow. “Once the magic reaches your heart, it will burn it.”

Clary gasped. Tears welled into her eyes. Death. She was going to  _ die _ . This wasn’t part of the plan. She’d only just found the Shadow World, and Izzy, and Jace, and everyone else in it. She couldn’t die. Not right now. 

“So if I don't find Madzie... I'm dead.” Clary’s voice sounded empty, resounding in the quiet between all of them.

“I can get rid of the pain, but that's about it,” Magnus added, as if he was trying to make it slightly less horrifying. 

Clary could barely breathe. 

“No…” Jace snapped, shaking his head. “Magnus,” he said, walking towards him, frantic. “There has to be a cure. There has to be something we can do to stop this.” 

“Can't we force Iris to undo it?” Alec asked, looking at him, always the Shadowhunter leader. 

Magnus shook his head. “I wish it were that easy. But blood oaths are completely binding. Even Iris herself can't reverse it now.”

Clary was crying, she realized. Izzy wasn’t, but she was hiding her face away from the group, and Clary could only guess she was fighting back her fear. Jace’s hand rested on his sword pommel. They were all shocked, unmoving now that it dawned on them that she had a few hours left to live.

“I think we have 12 hours,” Magnus said quietly. “We need to get to it, now.” 

\---------------------

Luke stood in front of his dying daughter. There was nothing he could do about it and it killed him. Clary wasn’t in pain, there wasn’t that shadow in her eyes that he knew to look for. When she was hurt, aching, her hazel eyes were more brown than green. And right now, they were clear.

Her hand, however, was black and cracked, red with blood and fire. It was ugly, and it looked… like it should hurt. She’d told him that Magnus had taken away the pain. That was at least one good thing. 

The last few months had gotten Clary more hurt than she’d ever been in her life. He remembered panicking over small bruises and over her falling from her bike onto the hard pavement, seeing scraped knees and blood and wanting to take her away from every source of pain. 

Now, she was dying from a curse, her mother was dead, she’d been taken prisoner by a warlock - though he didn’t know exactly what had happened there, she still looked shaken enough for him to imagine it had been bad. There had been many more times she’d gotten hurt physically or otherwise, kidnapped, held against her will… She was handling sharp weapons every day.

He couldn’t save her anymore, couldn’t protect her correctly. And it hurt him so badly. He was failing her, failing Jocelyn too. Failing everyone he loved and cared for. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I don't know what to say…” He hated to see Clary being like this. He hated to see her hurt. Especially when he should have been there. “I was so selfish, hiding in the woods like that. You would have never gone to Iris if…” 

“Luke,” Clary shook her head, looking at him. “This has nothing to do with you. You always told me to read the fine print. Well, I guess, uh, now I know why.”

She looked down at her hand. The burnt part disappeared under her sleeve, and Luke wondered just how far it went. How long did she have until it took over her heart and she died? His baby, his daughter.

The door of the Jade Wolf slammed shut behind Jace, and he walked towards them, sliding his phone into his pocket. He’d been on the phone with Magnus, asking about the state of his search for Madzie, the warlock girl that Clary had to find, that she had to save from Valentine.

“Did Magnus find anything?” Luke asked, seeing Jace’s worried look.

The blonde man’s eyes landed on Clary, and Luke saw his worry, and his fear. The door opened again, this time on Isabelle. Clary smiled at her slightly. Isabelle looked even more worried than Jace. Clary seemed to be beloved by the Lightwoods.

“No,” Jace sighed. “Iris' brownstone was wiped clean, but Alec just got a report from the Clave.”

Izzy nodded. “Iris was interrogated by the Clave, and according to her, Madzie was abducted from Brady Park.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “That’s in Nassau. We don’t have all the time in the world here!” He exclaimed. He tried to keep himself from being taken over by panic, but was failing greatly.

“We’ll make it,” Jace assured. “We’ll leave now.” He nodded at Izzy and Clary, and started walking outside.

Luke nodded. “I'll round up some wolves and see if we can get a scent.”

Izzy nodded as well. “Great.”

Clary started walking away from the group, towards the door. 

“Hey. Where are you going?” Jace asked protectively. Clary rolled her eyes at that, obviously getting annoyed at Jace’s protective behavior. Luke understood both of them, somewhat. It seemed like Clary was a prime target for Valentine now, especially with the Soul Sword and her Angel blood. What if she was taken by Circle members if she was alone?

“To talk to Simon,” Clary replied. “If we're gonna be searching all night, we can use his skills.”

Jace huffed. “Simon’s nice, Clary, but we’re going to be up against Valentine and some Circle members, and his fighting skills are… not exactly up to par.” 

“Night vision?” Clary asked. 

“There's a rune for that,” Jace chuckled.

Clary rolled her eyes at him. “He’s doing this with us. I need him.”

Jace seemed annoyed about that, but he said nothing. Clary was thankful. She walked out of the Jade Wolf, and crossed the yard towards the boathouse. It was bright and sunny out, so Simon wouldn’t be able to come with them now, but she needed him to know what was happening. She needed him to be with her, if he could.

She was dying. And she needed to have her family around her. She’d talked to Luke, she had Jace and Izzy with her as well, and now, she needed Simon, no matter how annoyed Jace got with him. Her wishes were much more important than anything else right now. 

She banged against the metal door with her right hand. She was afraid that if she banged her left hand against anything, it would crumble to dust. She pulled the door open when she had no reply. 

“Are you awake in there?” Clary called out. “Incoming sunlight.” She warned, chuckling. 

She didn’t have time to hear a response. A low, threatening growl rumbled behind her. Her heart froze in her chest. She’d never heard something so freezing. Every hair on her body stood on end. Her mind screamed at her that she was going to die. Clary couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that.

Slowly, she turned around.

In the middle of the yard was a huge wolf. Giant paws, an angry glint in its green eyes as it growled loudly at her. Its teeth were terrifying. Maybe she was going to die much sooner than she thought she would. Going from in 12 hours to within five minutes made her feel dizzy. 

The wolf moved almost immediately, launching itself at Clary. She grabbed the nearest shield she could find, a garbage can lid.

She barely had time to put it between her and the big wolf that was trying to kill her. Its massive body hit the garbage lid, Clary’s entire body rattling from the impact. Fuck, it hurt. Maybe it was even damaging her burnt hand. She had no real way to know. 

Clary’s body was forced against the metal door of the boathouse, her shoulders painfully hitting the metal in a loud bang. She crumbled onto the ground, and raised the lid up, keeping it between her and the wolf’s mouth.

“Clary?” Simon shouted from inside of the boathouse, finally awake. Clary was trying to get back up when a swift kick from one of the paws of the wolf shoved the lid out of her hand. She was defenseless against the wolf. 

She watched the wolf move back slightly, gathering its weight on its hind legs. She swallowed heavily. She didn’t want to die. She’d barely had any time with Izzy yet, she’d barely had any time with Jace. She didn’t want to leave this world, and her family, behind. 

“Clary!” Simon screamed, and he shoved an oar towards her, probably from one of the canoes. She grabbed it, and flung it in front of her. The wolf’s teeth scraped it as it was forced in its mouth, like a giant bit. 

Using all her strength she shoved the wolf back with the oar and got on her feet. It was uncomfortable, using the oar with one hand, the other numb and limp. The wolf seemed to focus on that, on her dark hand and she knew it would strike next.

“Back off!” Clary snapped.

It launched towards her with a growl, and she struck it, hard with the oar, like one would strike a ball with a baseball bat. The flat end of the oar caught the wolf square in the chest, and sent it flying, whining in surprise and pain, into a pile of garbage cans. 

Jace and Izzy came rushing towards her then. “Nice form!” Jace grinned, while Izzy grabbed her whip and turned it into a staff. 

“Five summers at Camp Winnipesaukee,” Clary chuckled, turning back towards the pile of garbage cans. 

The almost sickening sounds of a werewolf Changing could be heard in between the metallic clanks of its body against the cans. Jace grabbed his seraph blade.

“In the name of the Clave,” Izzy exclaimed, her voice loud and clear. Clary had never really seen her lead a mission, and interact with Downworlders, she realized. “Show yourself!”

The noises of bones breaking and a body reforming faded out, the trembling of the garbage cans seized and the werewolf stood. 

A mass of dark coily hair and dark, unwavering eyes rose from behind the cans. With her brown skin and her scar on her neck, her face beautiful and martial, Clary immediately recognized Maia. She was Simon’s friend, and the bartender of the Hunter’s Moon. She’d been the one to go after Jace, to avenge Gretel’s death. She was always the one for fast justice, it seemed. And now, she’d turned against Clary. 

She was naked too, because wolves didn’t wear clothing, they wore fur. She was gorgeous, Clary noticed. Simon was lucky, if they were dating. 

“I’m going to get Luke,” Izzy said. “You, keep an eye on her.” She ordered Jace, gesturing towards Maia, before she rushed back towards the red façade of the Jade Wolf. 

Clary watched the woman’s strong gaze, and how regretless she seemed to be. She was steady in her decisions, and she was now waiting for the consequences of it. Clary couldn’t help but admire that. 

Luke and Izzy were quick to join them again. Luke held a t-shirt and a grey tracksuit in his hand, and threw them to Maia. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He growled, and even Clary could feel the power of his Alpha status. It blurred the air around Luke, the way air blurred behind the engines of planes. Heat, and power, distorting the space around him. 

Maia looked at him, hard. “We know about the Soul Sword, Luke,” she replied. “All of us. You didn’t think it was a good idea to let us know that she-” she said, jerking her chin in Clary’s direction. “-could kill us all.” 

Luke growled. “And that gives you the right to kill her?!” His anger was palpable.

Maia stepped forward from behind the pile of metal, her feet bare against the dirty ground. The t-shirt and the tracksuit pants were too big on her. She was not much bigger than Clary, but her presence made up for physical height. Clary knew she wasn’t an Alpha, but she seemed to stand up to Luke.

“By the order of the Clave,” Izzy called out, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from her belt. She always wore them, which made Clary sometimes a little uncomfortable. “I’m going to have to arrest you for an attempt on Clarissa Morgenstern’s life.” 

Jace stood quietly next to Izzy, and Clary looked at the both of them for a moment. It was strange to see them arrest someone. 

“You will be detained in the boathouse while we call for backup,” Jace pointed, as Izzy and he walked forward to cuff Maia. The wolf did not put up a fight, letting them handcuff her. 

They marched her to the boathouse, where Simon was standing, arms crossed, a hard and betrayed look in his eyes. Another pair of cuffs was used to link Maia’s wrists to a pillar, where she wouldn’t be able to run. It might not have been necessary, but it seemed to be procedure. 

Luke walked up to Maia and looked at her. “I’m disappointed in you.” 

Maia stared at him, much more animated now. “You think this is easy? You know me. You know I don't want to hurt anybody!”

“Really?” Simon snapped. “That's not what it looked like.” 

Maia sighed heavily. She looked over at Clary. She looked a bit sad. “One life versus millions. If killing Clary is the price of saving the entire Downworld, then I'm willing to pay it. She has to die.”

Clary’s breath hitched. It wouldn’t be Maia who would pay the price. But maybe she should have told her that she was probably going to die anyway. That way Maia would know that she didn’t need to take it into her hands.

“That is not your decision to make!” Luke growled at her. 

He walked out, and so did Clary. She didn’t want to be there, she didn’t want to think about how Maia was right, in a way. So many people would die if she was ever captured by Valentine… She looked down at her hand. Maybe that was for the better. 

“You okay?” Jace asked softly, looking at her. Clary could feel the burn spread, but there was no pain anymore. That was at least something. 

“I can feel it spreading,” she whispered. “What if Maia's right?” She asked, looking up at Jace. Izzy was still on the phone with Aldertree, Clary guessed. She was getting reinforcements to take Maia back to the Institute. 

Jace shook his head, his eyes wide and angry. He looked mad that she would even consider it. 

“She's not,” Luke replied, instead of Jace. “You need to find Madzie, fast.”

Izzy walked back towards them, right as Simon was coming out of the boathouse. They all gathered there. 

“The Institute is sending two agents to take Maia Roberts into custody. I will be staying with them to oversee her arrest,” she explained, professional. “The Head of Institute also wants to speak with you, Luke. I told him you weren’t around, but he insists that you come talk to him about how you keep the order in your ranks.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

Luke shook his head. “I’ll deal with Aldertree.” 

Jace nodded. “Madzie’s last known whereabouts was Brady Park.”

Simon swallowed. “We'll take the van,” he said. “I’m coming with you.” 

Clary looked over at Luke. He looked sad, and she understood why. He had to deal with both Aldertree and his pack. He had to keep her safe, and keep them away from the Head of Institute’s wrath. He couldn’t come with her. If she was going to die, this was goodbye. Forever. 

Luke moved forward, hugging her tightly. Clary breathed in, deeply. He smelled like Old Spice, and it made her feel like she was a kid again. She wasn’t that far from the nine-year-old with scuffed knees that he hugged every day right before bed when he came back from a long shift at the PD. 

“Go, kiddo,” he said softly. “Go save the little girl’s life, okay? I’ll see you after.”

Clary stopped him from letting go of her, for a few seconds more. When she pulled back, there was a wet spot where her eyes had pressed against his vest, where the tears had fallen. 

As she let go of him, her arms feeling too weak to stay up, Luke turned to Jace. “If anything happens to her…” He was threatening, yes, but it was so wrapped in sadness that Clary sniffled a cry.

“It won't. Trust me, I'll protect her,” Jace whispered back. His eyes were dark and solemn. 

“We'll protect her,” Simon added. 

Izzy pulled Clary close for a second, and pecked her lips, a brief ‘see you later’ kiss. Clary wanted to hug her too, to hold her close and make sure she wasn’t leaving her, but Izzy was pulling herself back, keeping herself in professional coldness, and Clary knew why. It was to make this all easier. She moved back.

\-----------

Magnus knocked harshly at the door of the apartment. He wished he wasn’t this strung out, this anxious about what was to come. He hated that it manifested in the way he knocked on Catarina’s door, but he couldn’t help himself. 

A Shadow Council had been summoned, and that just wasn’t a good sign. Shadow Councils like these didn’t exist in peace time. In peace times, the Shadow Kinds managed their relationships on a more individual basis, but this… this was about finding out if they would go into this war together, or apart.

He’d let his people know as well, and Catarina might have thought that was why he was banging at her door now, as the night fell onto New York and the clock started running out even faster on both the Shadow Kinds and Clary Fray’s life.

He heard her steps behind the door, on the creaky hardwood that she liked some much, and the mechanism turning in the lock. Catarina opened the door and sighed softly when she saw him. 

“You didn’t warn me that you’d be coming,” she pointed out, and took a step back to let him in. 

The apartment was simple and warm, comfortable. Catarina had never been one for the fanciest, newest technologies. Magnus didn’t know personally any warlock that was truly adept at modern tech. Maybe there were a few out there, but those he was friends with were as ancient as he was, in all ways.

“I need a favor,” Magnus said. “We’re searching the city for a little girl. Warlock, raised by Iris Rouse until now, and I need to know that, if we find her and get her away from Valentine, you can take care of her while I fight.” He rambled, not really caring how fast he was talking, or how quickly the smile seemed to fade from Catarina’s face.

“One piece of information at a time,” Catarina replied, walking to him and grabbing his shoulder. “Is your Naphil involved in this? Is that why you want to fight in this war?” She asked, softly.

Magnus sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Yes, Alec was a part of it, but… there were so many threads that intertwined him to the events now that he couldn’t keep track of them.

“I can’t take care of a child like this,” he swallowed. “She’s what… 5? You know I’m no good with small children.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t wrong either. He’d tried taking care of toddlers before. He’d tried taking care of children that weren’t yet traumatised too much, but it never worked out. He was too worried to do the damage himself. He could care for teenagers that needed help analyzing their power, or dealing with their trauma but children… 

“Iris Rouse… Then Valentine,” Catarina whispered. “Poor child.” 

Magnus nodded. “She was one of the children of Iris’s project. Made to rebuild the warlock race in the time of the war against Nephilim.”

Catarina led him to the living room then, sitting him down on a big leather couch that looked amazingly comfortable. And it was. Magnus felt himself sink into it.

“She was always a bit extreme in her practices,” Catarina whispered. “But she’d told everyone she had reformed after her stint in the City of Bones in the late 70s.”

Magnus scoffed. “That should have been enough of a reason for me to keep an eye on her.”

Catarina looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Your good heart, once again, hoping for the best in people.”

Magnus looked down. He was bitter yes, and most of the time cynical, but he couldn’t seem to kill the naive part of him that wanted for everyone to see the right path, for everyone to be good. Thankfully for him, it had been a long time since his instincts had been wrong about one of his enemies.

“I don’t have much time. If we don’t find Madzie… Clary Fairchild is going to die.” 

“Valentine’s daughter?” Catarina asked. 

“Yes.” 

Catarina sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that made obvious that she was tired with Magnus’ bullshit. He’d heard it many times in the past couple of centuries, but it was the first time where he was a bit offended at it.

He stood up again and sighed. “I’ll let you know when we find her. Thank you, Cat.” he walked over and kissed her cheek. She tried to keep him in but he was already walking away from her, towards the door.

“Please call me if you need me. If you need someone else to fight.” 

\-----------

A black van was parked in the yard when Maia was escorted out of the boathouse by Isabelle. Two other Shadowhunters were standing next to it. Maia did not fight it. She knew what she’d done. 

She’d been desperate. Killing had never been something she imagined herself doing, and now… here she was. She’d almost killed an innocent 18 year old girl. She was the key to the genocide of millions, but… she knew what she’d done. 

She’d just needed to try something, anything, since Luke didn’t seem to care. The Pack had been talking. Luke seemed too attached to the Clave, to the Nephilim, not willing to make the hard choices. Maia was. 

Isabelle let go of her, going to talk to Luke, probably to discuss the terms of Maia’s arrest. She knew that the Institute had to talk with the leader of the group Maia was a part of, and it was Luke.

He watched her with sad, disappointed eyes, and she bit her lip. He wasn’t going to forgive her for a long, long time. 

She was shoved rougher than needed into the back of the black van. One of the two Shadowhunters climbed into it after her, and so did Isabelle, after them. They closed the doors and the van started going. 

Isabelle sat directly across from Maia, her arms crossed, her eyes showing little to no emotion. Maia had always admired the way Shadowhunters seemed to be able to switch off their emotions. She saw the way they laughed and drank when they were at the Hunter’s Moon, and they never seemed to be the same people when she crossed them outside of the bar. 

“It’s impressive,” she said, looking at the dark-haired woman in front of her.

She barely looked 20, under the cold Shadowhunter mask and the makeup. Maia couldn’t help but worry a little about these people. It couldn’t be healthy to do what they did from such a young age.

“Huh?” Isabelle raised an eyebrow. 

“How different you are when you’re working. How… inhuman,” Maia pointed out. “It’s not an insult.”

“I know it’s not,” she replied, shifting a little, uncrossing and crossing her legs over. “We learn to separate emotion from work early on. It’s part of being a Shadowhunter.” 

She spoke firmly, the same way she spoke when she arrested people. It was strange to see, truly.

“I guess it is,” Maia whispered. Being emotionless helped when you had to carry out the things that your superiors ordered, no matter how wrong and unsavory they were. Not that it applied to this situation. Isabelle was only doing what was right. After all, Maia had attacked someone technically innocent.

“What’s the punishment for what I’ve done?” Maia asked after a moment. “Trying to kill Clary?” 

Isabelle swallowed hard. “Attempt onto Nephili life. Life in prison.” She replied. She was even colder than before, like a statue. “You’ll probably be kept in the City of Bones. You’ll go insane within a few years, and they won’t give you the mercy of death, until age claims you, or maybe heart attack from the visions the Silent Brothers will give you.”

“A fun program,” Maia whispered. Isabelle had rattled on the details of her future without any sort of care. She gathered that the woman thought she deserved it. After all, she’d tried to kill her girlfriend for something she was not responsible for. 

“You’re a werewolf who tried to kill an innocent Shadowhunter,” Isabelle reminded, and the coldness in her voice became more biting. 

Maia hummed. “She’s Valentine’s daughter. I’m guessing the Clave doesn’t exactly want her to live.” She was provocative, of course, she wanted to be. Isabelle was so much of a Shadowhunter. It made Maia want to taunt her, to bait her into snapping, because Shadowhunters didn’t really often get her respect. 

Isabelle’s face shifted suddenly, the cold professionalism disappearing. She was angry now. She was also afraid, Maia realized. Afraid for Clary’s life. Isabelle’s dark eyes were fixed on the wall behind Maia’s head, glaring holes there. Maia didn’t know the details of what was happening with Clary, and why Isabelle looked so… afraid and sad suddenly.

She decided to stop with the teasing, even if she’d only just started. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

“For what?” Isabelle replied, snapping. 

“For trying to kill your girlfriend.” 

Isabelle paled, and looked at the other Shadowhunter that sat in the back of the van with them. “She’s not my girlfriend. I’m not a homosexual.” 

Maia opened her eyes, wide. She wasn’t out. Fuck. She was really hurting everyone around her today. “Of course not. I was only taunting you, Naphil.” She replied quickly, forcing the snarkiness to come back into her voice. 

When she looked at her again, Isabelle looked a little thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 26: Bound By Blood Part II  
>    
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	26. Bound By Blood Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter Bound By Blood Part II!
> 
> Warning for some violent stuff, and mentions of suicide and killing.
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy this!

Simon parked the van not far from Brady Park, the place that had been indicated to them by Iris Rouse. Night had fallen now, and it was getting closer and closer to the time where the burn would reach Clary’s heart. 

It was around her elbow now, she could feel numb from there on, and it seemed to be going faster and faster. Clary closed her eyes slightly, pulling the strength out of the depths of her being. She got up from the seat and got out of the van, even if she just wanted to lay down and nap.

It was as if, while burning her, the curse was also completely sapping her energy. 

“Are you sure this is the park they were talking about?” Clary asked as they walked onto the grass. It was deserted at this hour. It was morbid, to see a park where children were meant to play completely deserted. A light wind made the leaves of the trees shiver. It made her shiver despite herself as well.

“Positive,” Jace replied, leading the three of them towards the grass. “See the scorched grass? Someone opened a Portal.” 

Clary looked down. It was scorched indeed, dark and dry, and matched her hand perfectly. How… coincidental.

Simon nodded. He looked around, and suddenly started running. He disappeared in the wind, and started running around the playground. Within minutes, he was back next to the two of them.

“Nothing over there,” Simon explained. “And without the wolves to help us pick up a scent, this is gonna take forever.”

“We don't have forever,” Jace added. Clary swallowed. He was right, but she hated that he was. She hated the burn expanding up the length of her arm. She tried not to look at her hand, at the burnt flesh. 

“Everyone keep looking,” Jace muttered, and they kept looking for something that could lead them to Madzie. They knew that the girl wasn’t there anymore, Valentine was much smarter than that. But maybe, maybe there was something she’d touched, something she’d lost, that would lead them to her.

Simon grabbed Clary’s shirt. “Maybe he can help.” He said, pointing at a homeless man that was laying on a bench.

Simon ran to the man, smiling at him. Clary followed. She felt so tired. “Excuse me, um... a little girl might have gotten kidnapped a few days ago. I was wondering if you've seen her.” 

The man watched the three of them with dark, tired eyes.“I don't know what you're talking about.” He stared at Jace especially, at his martial broadness and the hard look in his eyes. Clary sighed. If only Jace could look a tiny bit less like a soldier...

“Are you sure?” Clary asked, doing her best to look and sound sweet and soft, trying desperately to balance out Jace’s hardness with her own softness. “She's about this tall, pigtails, always…” She was about to finish her description when her eyes fell onto a bright blue piece of fabric. “... wears a scarf.” 

Simon’s eyes followed Clary’s. “Hey, where'd you get that scarf?” He asked.

The man curled up on himself, hiding it away from them. “Nowhere. I found it. It's mine.” 

The man was still staring at Jace, and Simon must have realized why. “Do you wanna make a trade?”

\----------------------

Jace was cold. He was annoyed too, because out of everything that they could use to trade the scarf for, they’d chosen his jacket. It wasn’t like he particularly cared about that specific jacket, he had the exact same model in his closet just in case it got too shredded in the field to be worth repairing. He had no desire to spend more hours than necessary sewing leather together, without it being for a gift.

The tracking rune burnt bright in his palm, where he’d just drawn it. The angelic magic wrapped around the bright blue scarf. It created a sort of path in his mind, as if his consciousness was suddenly Google Maps and he’d written in an itinerary. 

“Keep heading north,” he ordered Simon, who was driving. “The signal's faint, but we can still track her.” 

It was too clear, too big of a line. Like a highway that brought them to the girl. It was wrong, he knew how Valentine usually worked. It felt… like a trap. He couldn’t shake that feeling, the feeling that they were making a mistake. 

“Don't sound too excited,” Simon huffed.

Jace rolled his eyes. “It's too easy.” He explained. 

Simon cut it out. “It wasn't easy. That jacket's at least two sizes too small on that guy. I'm just a great salesman.”

Jace sighed. Simon was a bit annoying with his…. Making light of events. He didn’t understand what was happening. He didn’t understand how bad it all was, how dangerous the situation was for everyone involved. Especially Clary. 

He couldn’t see Clary’s face, since she sat on the back seat of the van, quiet in the shadows. He wished he could tell her everything would be okay but Jace had never really been the type to make light of events like this. He was sarcastic maybe, arrogant too, but he never lied. Not about death. 

He’d gotten acquainted with death very early on. He’d killed animals at his father’s orders. He’d killed Downworlders too, and demons, without really thinking, when he’d been little more than eight years old. Jace swallowed. The memory of his first real kill, the first time someone with a human face had died at his hands, was one of those that came back to him the most in his dreams.

The girl’s body, with her dark eyes and the sharp teeth in her mouth. She’d been a vampire, and Valentine had asked that Jace kill her the old fashion way. First, he had to capture the creature, then take out her teeth with a strong pair of pliers and then kill the sobbing girl. 

She’d screamed so desperately as he tortured her. Valentine had made him a chocolate cake afterwards, and he’d gotten to drink just a sip of alcohol, from an old bottle of Allasch, a German caraway schnapps that Valentine regularly drank a small glass of.

He didn’t know where the teeth were now. Probably at the cabin. Or maybe at the Wayland manor. Either way, he didn’t remember taking them before he’d come to the Institute and to the Lightwoods’. Valentine had told him about the Collections that Institutes held, the thousands of trophies there. Come to think of it, he’d never asked Robert or Maryse about the Collection of the New York Institute.

“Valentine's too smart to have not thought about blocking the signal,” Jace explained, making it as obvious and clear as he could. “If we can track Madzie, it's because he wants us to. We'll be walking into a trap.”

“What are you suggesting?” Simon huffed, his tone betraying how offended he seemed to be at the idea that they shouldn’t go and find the girl. “That we don't find Madzie?” 

“That's not what I'm saying,” Jace said, his voice tight. He couldn’t help the feeling that was rising inside of him, the feeling of a trap being put into place around him. 

“Simon's right,” Clary said, and he heard a bit of strain in her voice, like she was pushing it out, but struggling. “Trap or no trap, the scarf is our only option.” She took a long, rattling breath. “I can't let Valentine activate the Soul Sword, either,” she added, and something was different then. She was… upset, Jace realized. Her voice shook slightly. “So whatever happens, you can't let him take me alive.” 

Jace breathed in.

“Uh... Clary, you're kind of freaking me out,” Simon said after a moment of silence. He didn’t understand why she was saying this. Jace did. He knew exactly what was happening. 

“Trust me, I've thought about it and... Maia was right.” 

Jace closed his eyes a little. The idea of Clary dying was actually quite upsetting, but he knew that, if Valentine got his hands on her… It was her life or all of the Downworld’s. He swallowed heavily, hardening himself. 

“What are…” Simon whispered. “What are you talking about?” It was obvious that he was trying to get Clary to change her mind to say that she wasn’t going to ask him what she was going to ask him. 

“I would rather die than let Valentine destroy the Downworld,” Clary said. Her voice resounded in the van, quiet and broken and yet he’d never heard her so certain of anything. “I need you to promise me. If Valentine ever gets to me…” 

“No,” Simon snapped immediately. “Absolutely not.” 

They were truly a pair, these days. Needing to keep each other alive to the very end no matter what the consequences really were. He’d seen the same thing happen before, with Clary choosing to bring Simon back as a vampire. Now he was choosing not to kill her, and damning himself in the same breath.

Jace blinked, heavy. Clary was right. There was a bigger picture here, one that called for the death of his sister. And if it had to happen… He knew Valentine. He’d been his prisoner more than once, and he never wanted Clary to experience captivity at his hands, not when she would be actively fighting against him. Valentine was alright about compliance, he didn’t mind it, actually liked it, but resistance? Jace shuddered. He didn’t want to subject Clary to that side of Valentine, the punishing one.

“I promise,” Jace’s voice resounded in the van without him really meaning to speak out so soon. “If it ever comes to that, I won't let him take you alive.” 

Simon gasped next to him, and Clary said nothing. Jace searched for her in her reflection on the windshield, and only saw her eyes, dark and tired but less sad than he’d expected. Maybe the curse and the recent death of her mother made dying less of a fearful notion and more of a reassuring eventuality.

He turned around to look at her. She was staring at him, and relief was clear in the line of her mouth, in the way she nodded at him. Clary sighed softly, moving to lay on the backseat. She looked exhausted. Jace caught sight of her hand and the dark burn and swallowed. They were losing time.

\----------------------

It was strange to see the Hunter’s Moon this empty, Magnus thought as he looked around the room. They’d chosen the bar for their council because it was easy to protect, and relatively neutral ground. The Seelies didn’t like non-neutral ground for meetings. A Seelie had once told him that other grounds felt sticky. Magnus didn’t know if it was a joke or not. 

Luke and Raphael were quietly talking, Magnus was looking at his phone, texting Alec. It seemed like the Institute was in a frenzy too. With Jace, Izzy and Clary gone on their wild goose chase for Madzie Rouse, Alec felt alone in the Institute, even during all of the commotion. 

Alec was very close to his family. It was not uncommon for a Shadowhunter, but it was uncommon for Magnus. His usual company was made of immortals whose blood families were long gone, except maybe for the rare exception like Raphael, young immortals with siblings still alive.

The doorbell chimed as the door was pushed open. Footsteps in perfect cadence resounded lightly. There was more than one person, Magnus noted. Seelies only made noise when they were many. 

The group of Seelies walked around the three of them, so their leader would stand across from Luke. The leader in question was familiar and when his dark eyes stopped on Magnus and Magnus saw his face, he couldn’t help but feel… sad.

Meliorn stood in full Seelie armor, strong lance in hand, his eyes a bit emptier than they once had been. There was something nervous and tense about him, an edge Magnus hadn’t really seen on him before. Meliorn had always been cool and quiet, sat there like a cat. 

Deep-looking scars marked his face where the vines had once been. 

“Meliorn,” Luke said, nodding. “What happened to your face?” He asked, the question clear in everyone’s mind. 

Meliorn’s face didn’t show any emotion as he replied. “My punishment for helping Clarissa Morgenstern into one of the Queen's realms.” 

An awkward silence, a sympathetic one maybe, but definitely heavy with ‘we shouldn’t have asked’, settled over the three leaders. Meliorn watched them quietly, maybe waiting for what they would have to say.

“Well, it's good to see you,” Luke replied eventually.

Magnus almost huffed. 

“I'd say the same,” Meliorn replied, his tone even and his voice slightly accented like all Seelies. “But, sadly, I'm incapable of lying. Shall we get this over with?” He sat elegantly in the chair. Magnus wondered if he was a regular of the Hunter’s Moon. With his armor and his dark emptiness, he couldn’t imagine it.

“Careful,” Magnus said softly, looking at Luke. “Seelie armor.” 

“Means war,” Luke finished for him. “I noticed.” 

Of course he had. The old Shadowhunter training was still there. Magnus wondered how much of the Shadow Kinds’ culture was taught in the Academy.

“So I assume you all know why I called you here.” 

Raphael moved, finally starting to talk. He disliked both Luke and Meliorn. “I've heard rumors.” 

Luke nodded quietly. Magnus played with one of his rings. He hadn’t been at a war council since 1997, since the Circle’s rise. Back then, the Pack leader he’d met had been Max Lincoln, the aging Alpha of the New York Pack, Alexis, the Alpha of the Brocelind Forest Pack, Camille as the Leader of the New York Vampire Clan, and the Seelie Queen herself. Magnus swallowed. He remembered the anxious quality of the air around there.

“Well, unfortunately,” Luke replied. “The rumors are true. Valentine wants to use the Soul Sword to decimate the entire Shadow Kinds, and he needs Clary to activate it.” 

Magnus swallowed. Even in the time of the Uprising, things hadn’t been so dire. Valentine hadn’t owned a weapon of mass destruction. They’d had some space to deal with it, some sort of… idea of a timeline. The Circle was raising numbers, yes, but the true catastrophe had been farther away. 

“And you have a plan?” Raphael asked.

“Well, we can't defeat Valentine on our own,” Luke started. “But together... maybe we have a shot.”

Magnus nodded. “Whatever it is, we can't have him get to Clary.” She was an innocent child. He might have enjoyed, once or twice, the idea that he was taking away the power and danger of the daughter of Valentine when he was taking her memories but now… Time had passed and had somewhat quieted his anger. 

“I agree,” Meliorn said, much to Magnus’ surprise. “But on behalf of the Seelie Queen, I'd like to propose an alternative.” Here it was. The Seelies were never ones for half-measures. And there was either a price to pay, or something else. “Execute Clarissa Morgenstern on sight.” 

Magnus swallowed. Of course. He should have expected it. He could almost see the Queen’s cold smile as she spoke those words through her Knight. “Care to rethink that?” 

“She’s innocent! If we kill her for her blood, are we any better than Valentine?” Luke called out, angry.

Magnus shook his head. “Let’s not compare ourselves to Valentine, please, Luke.” He replied, colder. “This is not exactly the same situation.” He wasn’t at all surprised by Luke’s response but… it wasn’t the time or place for another lesson in Shadowhunter biases. 

“By killing her,” Meliorn continued. “I'll be saving you from yourselves. This council is  _ biased _ . You've all allowed yourselves to become too involved with the Nephilim.” Magnus couldn’t tell whether these were the Queen’s words or Meliorn’s. 

The Seelie turned to Luke first. “Jocelyn Fairchild, and her daughter,” he called out. He turned to Magnus and Magnus was expecting the name that came from Meliorn’s lips. “Alec Lightwood.” He turned towards Raphael finally and Magnus frowned. Raphael stayed away from Nephilim better than any of them. “And you. Jace Morgenstern has been seen getting involved in vampire business.” 

“What are you talking about?” Raphael asked, tensing. He sounded almost like he was growling. Meliorn had pushed at the right buttons.

“The Seelie Queen knows of the vampire civil war. They know about the way Jace Morgenstern walked into a Seelie club and saved your and Simon Lewis’ lives,” Meliorn said, a smile playing on his lips. 

A civil war? Magnus’ heart skipped a beat for a moment as he looked at Raphael. Raphael hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told anyone about almost dying. He swallowed. He didn’t know his son as well as he used to, obviously.

“You're no different from the rest of us,” Raphael hissed. “We all know of your numerous dalliances with Isabelle Lightwood, of all Nephilim.” 

Meliorn had a small chuckle. “I'll admit, I know her...  _ charms _ better than anyone. But unlike you, my feelings never affect my judgment.” 

Raphael swallowed heavily. Magnus could see him, tensed and angry. “My judgment's fine. Clary has to die to protect our people...so be it.” 

Meliorn looked at Luke and Magnus, triomphant. He’d managed to push Raphael’s buttons in the exact way to make him side with him. 

\----------

Clary looked half asleep in the back of the van when they stopped. According to Jace, the thread of tracking stopped right behind a few walls and Simon couldn’t wait for this to be over. 

He couldn’t stand seeing Clary like this, couldn’t stand the idea that she might be dying within hours now. He couldn’t stand the idea that he might be losing his best friend, forever. 

Was this how she’d felt when he’d died, and when she’d had to decide to bring him back to life? Simon swallowed. He didn’t know what he would do if he was given that choice when it came to Clary. Would he bring her back to life as a vampire if he could? 

He wasn’t sure. The idea of Clary as a vampire made him uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t be able to deal with losing her so soon, especially since he was already going to lose her sooner than he wanted. 

“Stay here,” Jace told Clary softly. “We'll be right back.” She barely nodded, dark circles under her eyes.

They walked a couple of steps, onto the sidewalk and Jace sighed deeply.

“We're close,” he said, eyes looking around, a little unfocused. “Very close. This still feels way too easy.” 

Simon rolled his eyes. “And yet we've encountered no traps,” he pointed out. 

Jace had been repeating that for the past few hours, as they made their way all over New York, searching for Madzie. And maybe he was right, but they didn’t have time to think it all over, they didn’t have time to waste in wondering what was going to happen. Clary was going to die, and Simon would do anything to save her. 

“Although if we did... All that stuff you said about Clary…”

And he was starting to doubt that Jace would do the same. After all, he hadn’t seemed to be that distraught at the idea of killing Clary himself before Valentine could get his hands on her. Simon didn’t doubt that Jace would do it, too. 

“You were just talking, right? You wouldn't actually kill your own sister, would you?”

Jace looked at him for a moment, eyes unreadable in the darkness of the night. Simon swallowed. The man looked away. “No.” 

Simon exhaled. “Okay.” That was good to know. He didn’t have to worry about a threat on Clary’s life coming from their side, from Jace himself. 

Jace grabbed his arm. “But that's why I need to do this next part on my own.” 

Simon frowned. “What do you mean?” He didn’t want to stay alone with Clary, without anyone to protect her. 

“Clary's too weak to move, Simon,” Jace said, and Simon knew he was right, but that didn’t mean that he agreed with this. “She'd only be putting herself in danger of getting captured.” Simon shook his head, but Jace kept going. “Hey, I'll use the scarf to track Madzie. I'll bring her back here. But I need someone protecting Clary while I'm gone.” 

Simon huffed. Protecting Clary? He could barely even walk right most days. “That's easy for you to say. You're the guy with the sword. What am I gonna do? Protect her with my teeth? We need your help here.” 

Jace sighed heavily, biting his lip. He looked over at the van, at Clary’s unmoving, exhausted form and nodded. “Okay. All right, I'll stay.”

Simon was about to thank him when his phone rang in his pocket, and he grabbed it. Luke was calling, and that couldn’t be good, not when the War Council had just been summoned. “Just a sec, it's Luke.” He walked away from the van and Jace.

Jace hadn’t told the Clave about Kenneth Nelson and the civil war, but that didn’t mean that Simon trusted him with everything the Downworld was doing. Especially right now. 

“Simon, where are you?” Luke asked. He sounded rushed, worried, on the other side of the phone call. 

“Uh, we're still looking for Madzie. What's up?” Simon replied.

Luke sighed heavily. His voice was quiet, conspiratorial, and Simon frowned. “You need to be careful. The Downworld's falling apart.” 

Simon swallowed. That couldn’t be good. “I'm guessing the meeting didn't go so well, then?” 

“The vampires and the Seelies want Clary dead,” Luke replied, and if Simon’s heart had still been beating, it would have stopped. From what he’d been told, the Seelies were even scarier than the werewolves, the vampires or the warlocks. They were organized and following a cruel and capricious queen. “They'll be hunting for her.” 

Great. Simon shook his head, and nodded. “We’ll deal with it,” he said, as strongly as he could before starting again. “Good thing you called when you did,” he explained, turning around to look where Jace was standing. “Because Jace was just-” Jace wasn’t there anymore. “Oh, no.” Before Luke could say anything, he muttered. “I'll call you back,” and hung up. 

There was no trace of Jace anymore and he could only guess that he was long gone, already with Madzie perhaps. He was alone, against the vampires and the Seelies. He swallowed.

It felt terrible to have to fight the vampires. He guessed it was Raphael leading them, and after everything he’d said, everything he’d done with the clan these past couple of months, it felt like he was betraying them.

But he couldn’t betray Clary. His loyalty went to her first, no matter what. Or so it did, right now. Despite the way she acted around him, the way she acted around all vampires, Clary was still his best friend, almost his sister. He couldn’t deal with turning his back on her and giving her to the Clan to die. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “You can do this.”

\------------------

Isabelle’s hand wrapped around Maia’s arm as she led the woman out of the van. They were back in the garage of the Institute, and they had to process her and get her sorted in a cell downstairs, until she was sent to the Gard or the City of Bones for judgement. 

Izzy didn’t really know Maia well, but she seemed like an okay person. Except when she tried to murder Clary, of course.

She didn’t know exactly what the Clave was going to do, what the sentence would be, but she knew it wouldn’t be just a light smack on the hand and being sent home. She knew there were big chances Maia would live the rest of her days in a cell in Alicante. And she didn’t look very old.

She led the woman down the corridors, into the elevator and into a cell. She opened the door of the cell and they both walked in. It was a big rectangular room, and one wall was made of glass, just a window so the Shadowhunter guards could keep an eye on what the prisoners were doing. 

And also so they could speak to said prisoners without actually walking into the cell. It had been designed carefully. There were ways to shoot tranquilizer darts, hidden in the walls, in case your prisoner was a very angry Downworlder. Izzy had never seen anyone use it. The Downworlders she’d seen imprisoned here had always been nicer than she had expected.

She unlocked Maia’s cuffs. “I’m going to need your ID,” she said softly. “Your Shadow World one, of course.” She added. 

Maia sighed. “I don’t have it. These are not my clothes, and I left my wallet in my jacket when I took my clothes off to Change,” she explained. 

Izzy sighed. Downworlders were always supposed to have their ID card on them, but she couldn’t really ask for it, could she?

“It’s fine,” she replied. “Just fill in the form.”

She held out a tablet towards Maia who took it and wrote her information down. Izzy watched her for a moment. She wondered what it was like to be a werewolf. What it was like to be able to Change forms like this. What it was like to have scars and pains this big.

Izzy had scars, but they weren’t many. They were faded mostly, thin and barely there. Shadowhunters didn’t scar easily. Healing runes and trips to the infirmary made sure you didn’t scar often. She liked it. 

But she just wondered what life was like for werewolves, especially. They were so… mundane. They lived and died and had jobs, and it wasn’t like the immortal vampires, warlocks and the long-living Seelies. They lived in the mundane world, even more than in the Shadow World. What was that like? Did they feel like they were stuck in between two worlds or not?

Maybe they felt the way Clary felt. Like they didn’t belong anywhere. Like both worlds hated them for various reasons. Like they didn’t get to be part of anything, forever stuck in between. 

Clary. 

The process of arrest had taken Izzy’s brain away from the situation for just a moment, and she came back to the land of the living. To the reason why Maia was in a cell, to Clary, who was dying. 

“Hurry up,” Izzy said. “I have to go back to Clary.”

Maia raised an eyebrow. “So what about the procedure?” 

“Fuck it,” Izzy mumbled, taking her phone out of her pocket. There was a message from Simon, saying: ‘Vamps and Seelies hunting for Clary, Jace went to get Madzie. Clary’s getting worse’. “Fuck,” she repeated. 

She must have sounded particularly rushed, or panicked, because Maia looked at her strangely.

“Clary’s dying,” Izzy replied coldly. “You didn’t have to go through all of that trouble to kill her in the first place.” 

Maia’s mouth opened, jaw dropping as she stared at her. Izzy snatched the tablet back from the woman’s hands and walked out of the cell. She didn’t have much time, and she needed to get to Clary before she died.

She couldn’t imagine not being there. She needed to be there, just so she could say goodbye. Even if it was so unfair that she had to say goodbye so early. She’d just found her. Clary didn’t deserve to die. She’d barely found herself in the first place, let alone Izzy. 

Izzy swallowed heavily as she walked into the elevator and texted Simon. He didn’t answer. He was probably busy talking to Clary, Izzy thought. She forced herself to think that it was only that, that no one had gotten hurt, that the vampires and Seelies were still far away, and that Clary was still alive.

\---------------------

Clary didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t really know the day, or anything, because her mind felt blank, exhausted. She looked up and all she saw was the night sky, but she couldn’t see the stars because of the light pollution from the city. 

Simon had helped her onto the roof of the van. It was better there than inside of it, where it was cramped. She could feel the curse working, and she knew she didn’t have that much longer. 

“You sure we're safe up here?” Simon asked, loudly, from below. 

“If I'm gonna die, it's not gonna be in this van,” Clary replied, much quieter than him. She sighed heavily. 

Simon jumped onto the roof and settled behind her. She leaned back against him, and he cradled her to his chest. She was so tired. She felt like the world was hazy, blurry around the edges. She just wanted to sleep, but she knew that if she closed her eyes for too long, she probably would never open them again. 

“Maybe we should go looking for Jace,” Simon muttered. He was agitated, and Clary guessed why he was. But it wasn’t worth it. 

“No,” Clary muttered. “If he says he's gonna rescue Madzie, we need to be here when he comes back.” She trusted Jace to find Madzie. And she knew she couldn’t walk to him now. He had to come to her. If they set out to find him… If there was a chance that he would be back in time with Madzie, they had to be easy to find. 

“Sure,” Simon nodded. Clary knew him enough to know that it had not calmed him down.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“But at what point do we say he's been gone too long?” Simon asked. 

Clary almost wanted to roll her eyes, but she understood why he was so nervous. She was dying, and none of them could do anything about it. They just had to wait it out.

“We don't. Okay?”

Simon nodded, quiet. Clary could see how hard he tried to keep himself from doing something stupid. She got it. If she had any energy to do anything, she would probably be running after Jace. She didn’t have energy, and she couldn’t exactly do anything. She felt useless, too.

Clary shifted a little. She was going to die. The numbness reached her shoulder now. She knew what it meant. Soon enough, it would crawl down to her heart. And then she would die. She didn’t want to. 

Despite herself, tears rose into her eyes. She tried to fight them down, to be strong for Simon, for herself, because the tears were not going to do anything, and they were only going to use energy. But she couldn’t. Stray tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Hey…” Clary muttered, and her voice was choked, heavy with tears. “If I don't make it…” 

“Stop,” Simon said immediately, shaking his head as he looked down at her. He looked so incredibly sad. “You will. You have to.”

Clary had a small, tired chuckle, and reached up to stop him from talking. “If I don’t make it, don’t try to bring me back. Vampire bites, warlock necromancy… Don’t,” she whispered.

She’d learned these past few months that trying to mess with life and death wasn’t a good idea. She’d made Simon into a vampire, even if he deserved much better than his new undead life, he deserved to be able to walk free and eat whatever he wanted and see his family. 

And then, she’d tried to bring her mother back, and all she’d gotten was being locked into a basement, with a demon that wanted to rape her. She curled up upon herself a little at the memory of the claw on her thigh.

She couldn’t let Simon go that route, and try to find a way to bring her back. She didn’t want to. She would just die and hopefully be back with her mother. 

Simon swallowed heavily. “That’s hypocritical, Little Miss Death Doesn’t Exist In My World,” he teased, but his voice was darker than his usual playful tone. 

Clary had a small chuckle. “Exactly. Do what I say, not what I do, Lewis.” She whispered, curling up against him a little more. 

She wished Luke and Izzy could be here, and Jace too, and maybe even Alec. But they couldn’t. So if she had to go now, at least she had Simon to bear witness to it. 

\--------------

The trail of tracking light stopped right in front of a coffee shop. It was late, but it was still open, twinkling lights on strings in the window, and metal stools around tables. Jace thought for a moment that this was a mistake, that maybe Valentine was hiding below the comfortable and wholesome-looking shop, in the sewers, but…

Then he saw them. 

Valentine sat across from the window, but he wasn’t looking out at the street. His entire attention seemed to be on the little girl sitting with her back to Jace. He was looking at her almost tenderly and it made Jace want to puke.

He was smiling at the girl, and he looked soft and gentle. Jace remembered that smile on Michael Wayland’s face, like this when he was a child, making dinner while Jace bandaged his own wounds from training too hard. He remembered that smile when he sat in a tub full of spaghetti, because he had been a good boy and his training had gone well. 

It was a gentle smile, a smile full of love and Jace wanted to scream. This wasn’t right. He needed to get Madzie so far away from him. 

It was like seeing something that should have been his. Jace had always thought of his father as loving, if incredibly bad at demonstrating it. He saw hints of love in between the horrors he pushed for him to do, in the praise he gave him when he was good. 

Jace grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open, stepping into the coffee shop. Valentine looked up. They both knew they’d seen each other, and it wasn’t much of a surprise. 

Valentine looked softer now then he had the last few times Jace had seen him. The last time they’d actually been face to face had been as Valentine murdered Hodge and the Silent Brothers. 

“How fatherly,” Jace almost snarled as he sat down by Madzie’s side, across from Valentine. He needed to protect her, to put himself between Valentine and her. She was too young to know the danger that was the man she probably thought was very nice to her. She was licking at a popsicle she’d made out of the hot chocolate he’d bought for her. “I didn't know you had it in you.” 

Valentine tilted his head. The softness he’d had when looking at Madzie was gone. He still looked warm, maybe, but it was a mirthful sort of warmth, and he looked at Jace as if to say “you’re adorable, wanting to go against me”. 

His hand moved down, and though Jace couldn’t see what he was doing exactly, he knew. He was opening the straps that held his seraph blade in place. If they were to start to fight, he would be able to draw it easily. Keeping eye contact with his father, Jace let his own hand travel down to his holster, and did the same. Valentine smirked.

Madzie looked at them, as if she knew what was happening. She could probably feel the tension in between them. Jace smiled at her, briefly, before looking back at Valentine. She turned to stare at Valentine. And the man, surprisingly, in a way that made Jace’s stomach lurch, looked back to her with care. He deserved that care. He had deserved to be protected from violence. But Valentine had always pushed him into it. Forced him. 

“Ah, Jonathan,” Valentine sighed. The name sounded wrong on his lips and it made Jace feel antsy. Jonathan. Only Valentine called him that, even the Clave had adopted that he used Jace. “I figured you'd come for young Madzie sooner or later. Although, it's a shame you didn't bring your sister along.” 

Jace swallowed. Clary was probably laying in the back of the van dying as he and Valentine talked. He had to get back to her. 

“Let the girl go,” Jace demanded, not taking the bait. 

Valentine raised an eyebrow. “I'm afraid young Madzie is quite happy where she is.” 

And indeed she looked quite happy. It made Jace uncomfortable, but it was true. She just licked at her ice cream with a smile, watching the two of them and not understanding what it meant, what they were talking about. She probably just thought that Valentine was kind. Jace shuddered.

“Oh, I think Iris would disagree,” he replied. That was the card he had to play. After all, Valentine seemed to care so incredibly much about Clary… “She made Clary take a blood oath,” he revealed. He saw something shift in his father’s eyes and smirked. “If I don't get Madzie to her in the next few hours... Clary dies.” 

Valentine shifted. He was rarely ever one to completely break his facade of control, but Jace knew what Clary dying meant to Valentine. He saw him struggle, then push all emotions back to smirk at Jace.

“I suppose you're here to save her life?” He asked, almost contemptuous in his amusement.

Jace pushed back every single hint of feeling he had for Clary. He smirked, staring into Valentine’s eyes, as cold as he could. “I'm here to give you an ultimatum. I'll let Clary die if I have to…” He said simply, drawing on the words. “But  _ you _ need her alive.”

Valentine huffed slightly, looking back at him. “You're bluffing. You couldn't kill your falcon when you were a boy, and you can't kill your sister now.” 

He didn’t know if he could. He knew that he would try to, if he was asked to do so because of various traps. He had to respect her wishes. He couldn’t let Valentine get her alive. 

“I have demon blood,” Jace reminded him. For once, he felt like he had the upper hand on Valentine. For  _ once _ . “If you destroy the Downworld, I go with it. I'm just trying to save myself.”

And he guessed, in another world, it could be. In a world where he didn’t care about Clary the way he did, in a world where she wasn’t the sister, the family he’d needed, the blood he’d felt like he lacked in the Lightwoods… 

Shadowhunter culture liked blood lines. And Jace had been raised by the one man who was even more traditional in a lot of ways, than most Nephilim, even the Lightwoods. Blood… He wished it wasn’t as important to him as it actually was, now that he knew he had a blood family. That he had Clary.

“It's your choice…” Jace continued, looking at the man he’d called father so many times, the man that was still his father. “But I'm not gonna ask you again. Either Madzie comes with me... or your angel dies.” 

\--------------------

Izzy got off of her motorcycle, a few blocks from where the tracking runes on Jace and Clary said they were. The trace was relatively old, so they might have moved. She slid her phone back into her pocket, and started walking, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her seraph blade. 

To mundanes that crossed her path, it looked like her hand was in her pocket, since her holster was glamoured. There weren’t many people around, since it was the middle of the night. She just enjoyed the night, some days. 

She needed a bit of time to compose herself before she got to Clary. Because she needed to be strong, when Clary was dying. Izzy sniffled. She pushed all of her feelings back, shoving them deeper inside herself than before. She’d cry when she was dead, when she wasn't there to see her breakdown anymore.

She was used to this. She was a Shadowhunter. She’d been trained to keep the emotions to after the battle, to let herself grieve only much later than at the moment of her loved one’s death. She’d been told so many times that she and her family would probably die young, that death was not only normal, but it was good. Death in the name of the Angel, death in battle…

Clary wouldn’t have death in battle. She was going to die because of a warlock’s curse, because she’d tried to go against her mother’s death. Jocelyn had died while hunting a demon. Clary would die because she hadn’t accepted what had happened, because she hadn’t accepted the reality, and the beauty, of Jocelyn’s death. And it wasn’t fair.

Izzy didn’t know about the afterlife. She just knew the stories she’d heard from other Shadowhunters. The myths and murmurs that filled the City of Bones with dusty, whispery noise, that said that the Naphil that died a Righteous Death, that died in Battle, walked into the Afterlife and met the Angels, lived amongst the Angels forever. 

Clary wouldn’t get that. She wouldn’t be able to see her mother in the afterlife, if she was to die now. It made Izzy… even sadder, for some reason. Maybe for selfish reasons. Izzy was more likely to die on a hunt than anywhere else. Which meant she wouldn’t get to see Clary either. 

She swallowed, and shoved at the tears that slid down her cheeks, messing up her foundation. She needed to get herself together. She stopped walking for a moment and reached down for her tissues, letting go of the handle of her seraph blade. 

Something hard hit her ankles and she stumbled forwards, her tissues escaping her hands. She hit the ground, managing to catch herself somewhat on her wrists. It hurt, a sudden sharp pain. Fuck. Had she broken her wrists?

Izzy twisted on herself, laying on her back. She tried to sit up, to observe and get out of the thing that was wrapped around her ankles. She could feel it, heavy and hard, holding her legs closed. She didn’t have time to even see what it was.

A group of people came out of the shadows. Hands grabbed her, shoving her back down. Her shoulders and head hit the pavement hard. A heavy weight crushed her chest. Someone was sitting on her. 

The face of the assailant was not hidden. The man had a flash of chestnut hair and matching eyes, a cruel smile, and a stele in his hand. He grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it down hard, the stele burning a rune into the flesh of her throat.

She tried to follow the pattern as he carved it into her but with every angle and line, she felt heavier, the face of the man got blurrier. When the stele moved away from her skin, Izzy’s lids fell close.

The last thing she saw was a dark red, angry circle rune on the man’s neck.

\------------------

Alec grabbed onto the table he was working at. His head swam suddenly, dizziness overwhelming him like a giant wave. He breathed through it, trying to gather what was happening to him. 

He didn’t have much time to think. Within seconds it was gone again. He frowned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 27: Bound By Blood Part II
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	27. Bound By Blood Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Today's chapter is the last part of episode 9 of season 2!
> 
> Enjoy!

Clary’s breathing had been getting more ragged and heavier. Simon checked the time on the phone that he’d laid down on the roof of the van, only one click on the home button away from seeing the timer. Time was running out. From what Jace had told him, Magnus had said it would take 12 hours for Clary to die.

The eleventh hour had started a while ago, the last time he’d checked his phone for the timer. It was a bit morbid, to have a timer set to ring for the end of Clary’s life. But it made them able to keep an eye on how long they had left. How long she had left.

He’d texted Izzy earlier, but she wasn’t answering anymore. She’d said she’d left the Institute a while ago. She should be here now. But she wasn’t. Simon swallowed. He would have to deal with this alone, it seemed. 

Clary could barely breathe properly, a sign that the burn had reached her lungs. Her eyes were half-open, heavy with exhaustion and lack of oxygen. She didn’t feel pain, thanks to Magnus, but Simon guessed she could still feel her life draining away with each second that ticked by.

“Clary,” Simon whispered. “Clary…”

With each time he said her name, he could see recognition and life spark briefly back in her eyes. At first, he only needed to do it every few minutes, a couple of times an hour, but now… now she barely could focus on him for a couple of seconds.

Her lashes fluttered back, half closed again, heavy. They closed for a second, to rest maybe, and Simon shook her physically.

“Clary,” he called again. “Clary, stay awake.” Her eyes opened lazily again. It seemed an effort, even to move that tiny part of her body. The rest of her had been still for what seemed like forever now. She was warm against him.  _ Not for long _ , said a voice in his head. He pushed it away.

He didn’t dare look around for Jace or Izzy anymore. If he looked away for too long, maybe it would be too late when he looked back down at her.

Clary’s lips opened. She groaned slightly, trying to speak. “Viddui. Say it,” she muttered. 

Simon shook his head. He couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t going to die, they still had time. They still had… around fifteen minutes. He wasn’t going to give up and say it yet. Tears were falling down his face, keeping him from seeing her face clearly. 

“Simon,” she croaked. “Please.” 

She sounded so horribly weak. Simon shoved away the pain, and started reciting it. It was supposed to be Clary’s prayer to recite, but she didn’t know it, not the way he did. He remembered his father saying it. He remembered his mother saying it for him. 

_ “Ashamnu. Bagadnu. Gazalnu. Debarnu,”  _ Simon started reciting. It was wrong. She had nothing to confess for, really. And she wasn’t supposed to die. _ “Dofie VeLashon Harah. HehEhWenu. Wehirshanu. Zadnu. Chamasnu. Talphanu Sheker Umeimeitzwotehcha mirmah.”  _ Clary’s eyes fluttered shut. Simon’s tears kept him from seeing exactly how shut they were. _ “YaAtznu Atzot RaOht. Ki-” _

“ Clary!”

The voice sounded loudly in the silence around them. Simon looked up. “Jace!” 

He shoved the tears away and shook Clary until her eyes opened again. They looked so incredibly tired that Simon’s heart broke, but he grabbed her, and jumped off of the van. Vampire speed and strength were useful when you had to save your best friend from dying.

Clary was barely alive when he put her down next to the little girl. She was adorable, Simon noted. And she was going to save Clary’s life.

“Madzie…” Clary croaked weakly. 

The little girl reached for Clary, putting her hand on her livid skin. 

Something blood red and ugly wrapped around the two of them, the dying young woman and the little girl. It looked like light, but it was thicker, stringier somehow. Simon looked up at Jace, worried. 

“Blood curse. It’s the magic,” the man explained briefly. Both of them stared back at Clary. Simon felt a little high, as if he was breathing again and the air was full of oxygen. 

The magic wrapped around them and Clary seemed to come back to life. Her skin had a healthier glow than before, color coming back to it, and the dark burn of her flesh disappeared. He could hear her heart beating again strong and loud, much healthier than her earlier weakened pulse.

“Thank you,” Simon whispered. 

Jace looked at him strangely, for a moment. “You kept her awake. You did most of the job.” 

Simon sighed heavily. He couldn’t help but smile. 

They were both distracted. They didn’t see the little girl open a portal until Clary exclaiming: “Madzie, what are you doing?”

Simon rushed to her but it was too late. The portal closed around Madzie and Clary, and they suddenly were gone. 

\--------------------

The ground was hard and cold under her cheek t. Clary’s eyes fluttered open. Downworlders, kept in cages that kept them from sitting down or laying down, begged for mercy around her in a loud cacophony of noise. The cages were suspended from the ceiling, and creaked as they moved. Her entire body hurt.

She was still alive, right? She hadn’t imagined Madzie coming to rescue her, and how the curse had been lifted. This wasn’t Hell, or wherever the Shadowhunters went to if they were evil. Because it couldn’t be Heaven, with all of the screaming, terrified and exhausted creatures, and the blooming, aching pain at the base of her skull.

Clary shifted, rolling onto her back and sitting up. Someone was watching her.

Her vision focused. It was Madzie. The little girl was staring at her, with wide, curious, eyes. Behind her, a merry-go-round was turning, and the music that came from it was vaguely cheerful. The lights played onto her face. Was this a horror movie?

Clary didn’t remember much. She remembered the portal, and going through it, held gently by Madzie’s small hand. She remembered the sudden, violent hit at the back of her head that had sent her into sleep. She didn’t know exactly where she was, she just knew it was creepy.

Something was tight against her ankles and she looked down. Shackles. What was it with people kidnapping her and shackling her to the ground? Did she have to worry about a hidden demon being let out to rape her? She shuddered. 

She grabbed the chains and started tugging on them. Madzie was still silent. So silent that Clary heard, behind the noise of the merry-go-round, footsteps.

She looked up. Valentine was walking towards her. He had a satisfied smile on his face, and he looked almost happy. Clary had never seen him like this. She’d never seen him look at someone the way he did at Madzie then, smiling softly.

“Well done, Madzie,” Valentine said softly, kneeling so he could be on the same level as the little girl. He was gentle when he touched her shoulder. Clary pulled at the chain some more. Without a stele available to activate her strength rune, she could do nothing. “Your nana is gonna be so proud of you. But you still have a lot more to do before you can see her, okay? So run along.”

The girl skipped away. Valentine turned to Clary. His eyes had been soft, and they hardened a little as he looked at her. She wasn’t a child, Clary guessed. And she was his daughter, who was clearly going against him.

“Hello again, Clarissa,” Valentine said, harsher than he’d been towards Madzie. He stood up, and held out a hand for Clary to stand back up. Clary took it. He helped her to her feet, his hand warm and firm clasped around the tips of her fingers. She took her hand away as if she’d been burned. 

He sighed. “You must still hate me for what happened to your mother,” Valentine started. Clary glared at him. Right. It had been his fault, it had been his demon that had possessed Alec and killed Jocelyn. But it wasn’t the only reason why she hated him. Far from it. “I don't blame you. Jocelyn's death will always be my greatest regret.” 

Clary rolled her eyes. “You didn’t care about her. You don’t care about anyone.” She hissed at him.

“You’re wrong, Clarissa. I’m doing all of this for you.” Valentine took a step closer to her. She held her hands up, ready for a fight. She wasn’t as good as Izzy or Jace, or Alec, but she could still punch him in the face. Valentine reached out for her, and his fingertips had the time to graze her face before she shoved his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Clary hissed. “If you have any shred of humanity left, you would stop this.” 

Valentine sighed softly. “My humanity is what keeps me going,” he said, loudly. The Downworlders around them insulted him loudly. “My humanity, my love for you, your brother, and your mother are the exact reason why this needs to happen. So the world can be safe for you to live in…” he whispered. “Besides, if the Angels designed the Sword to rid the world of demons, I'm just ensuring it fulfills its true purpose.”

Clary wanted to yell at him. She didn’t. He was so convinced of what he was saying that it didn’t matter. Something in his conviction made her feel frozen in place. He watched her, and he didn’t look angry or aggressive. He looked like someone who was talking to their self-righteous teenage kid.

“You’ve seen what they have done, yourself,” Valentine added. “You’ve seen a wolf hunt down your brother. You’ve seen a vampire turn your best friend, and you’ve seen that best friend turn into a blood-sucking monster.” 

Clary shook her head. “No. I was the one who decided Simon should be a vampire.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, my daughter,” Valentine grabbed her then, grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. “I know that you regret it. I know seeing him drink blood disgusts you. I know that you wish you hadn’t turned your adorable mundane friend into an abomination.” 

Clary closed her eyes, not to look into Valentine’s. Most of the time, Valentine’s eyes looked black. So close to him now, she could see that they weren’t. They were a warm brown now, so similar to her own. “No.” 

Clary’s hands reached to try and pull Valentine’s from her face. His hands were warm and big, and they made her feel, almost, like Luke’s when he was holding her, telling her she didn’t need to worry about anything. This wasn’t Luke though. This was Valentine. And he… he couldn’t be right about what she felt. 

He couldn’t be right about the strange feeling she had when she looked at Simon, when she saw him in the boathouse or the Jade Wolf with a glass of blood. She wasn't disgusted by him. She just… needed some time to get used to it, that was all. He hadn’t been a vampire for that long…

Valentine leaned closer, pulling her to him. She tried to push back but she was no match. Gently, he pressed his lips against her forehead. Clary shook her head a little. He wasn’t right.

\--------------

There was no real point in running, Jace thought, as they stopped running onto the street. The dark waters of the river were scoffing at them, almost, when they crashed against the railing of the edge.

Simon was agitated next to him. “Okay, this isn't good. Clary could be anywhere.” 

Jace understood why. His mind had switched to the state of mind he was in when he was on the hunt. Feelings were pushed very far away, locked behind a strong, very strong, door. 

He’d developed this technique a long time ago, when he was still under Valentine’s care. He didn’t really know when he’d stopped being afraid as long as adrenaline ran through his veins. He just knew that it had been a long time since the world hadn’t been clear when he fought.

“Not anywhere,” he reminded. “Valentine still needs a bolt of lightning.”

“Great. So what's the plan? You want me to check the five-day forecast for every city in the entire world?” Simon said sarcastically. He was right, of course, but the darkness of the clouds upon which lights of the city reflected meant a storm was gathering.”You were right. Finding Madzie was way too easy.”

Jace nodded. He clapped Simon’s shoulder slightly. Words came out of his mouth without him truly wanting to say them. “As much as I love to hear you say that, now is really not the time.”

Simon’s phone blinged and he looked down at it, but what Jace heard was a loud, terrified screaming. He started running. Simon was talking, but he didn’t listen, his hand going to his seraph blade and knocking it out of its holster. The blade shone with its typical white-blue light as he rushed into the alleyway.

Two creatures were standing over a man’s unmoving body. One of them had the distinct markings of Seelies, the leaves and greenery sprouting directly from their skin. But it was wrong. 

The Seelie’s eyes were crazed. The pupil seemed to have taken over the entirety of the eye because they were completely black, with no real distinction anatomically. Those weren’t the eyes of a Seelie, not a Seelie Jace had ever seen, at least. 

The second creature was too busy drinking the man’s blood to realize Jace and Simon were here, until his companion snarled loudly enough to take him away from bloodlust. Again, the vampire’s eyes were entirely black, and dark veins bulged on his face, corrupted and poisoned. 

“Don't move!” Jace called out, seraph blade raised. 

They didn’t listen to him. They didn’t seem to be wanting to attack them though, since they immediately ran away, disappearing up onto the roof of the nearest building. Jace decided against chasing them. 

The skin of the dead man was still warm when Jace pushed his fingers against his neck, but there was no pulse. “He's dead,” he called out.

Simon was buzzing around the crime scene already, still greatly agitated. It was something else to be in the field than to be in the background, Jace guessed. 

“Dude, that's not normal,” Simon pointed out. “Even the worst of Camille's people wouldn't risk attacking a mundane on the street.” 

Jace nodded. He was vaguely aware that the situation between Raphael Santiago’s Clan and Camille’s, then led by Kenneth Nelson, had been resolved, but he didn’t know the details of it. This was confirming that they were probably not all dead. That was surprisingly merciful. More merciful than the Clave would have been.

“Especially not with a Seelie,” Jace added. “Vampires and Seelies don’t exactly get along. Seelies do not see well to non-natural beings.” 

Simon raised an eyebrow. He was about to take offense to that when he seemed to stop. “That was a Seelie? He didn’t look like the ones we saw at that French club.” 

Jace shook his head. “Something was wrong with him. And I think I know what. The vamp was from Valentine's zoo.”

Simon made a face, but seemed to decide not to think too much about that. “Why would Valentine have Downworlders attack mundanes? That makes no sense.”

Jace sighed heavily. “It must have something to do with the Sword.” He grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to call Alec. He’s still keeping an eye on everything from the Institute. Maybe Madzie’s portal left a trace.”

Alec seemed to be right next to his phone. It barely rang before he picked up. “Jace? Are you okay?” Alec asked. He sounded worried, busy, and there was something else going on in the background, that Jace couldn’t really make out.

“We just saw a Seelie and a vampire attacking a mundane,” Jace explained quickly. “They were from Valentine’s zoo, at least what I remember from it on the boat.” 

“Yeah, they aren’t the only ones. We have reports of violent Downworlders all over Manhattan.” Alec stopped for a moment, and seemed to hesitate. “Is Clary…” 

“We fulfilled the blood oath, but now Valentine has her,” Jace resumed. “He’s going to try to activate the Soul Sword, storm clouds are gathering and I can bet there’s going to be lightning. I need everyone you have to be looking for her right now.”

Alec sighed heavily. “Yeah, that's not that easy. Aldertree dispatched every Shadowhunter we have to stop the attacks.”

Fuck. That sounded terrible. Aldertree had been blocking them for months now, ever since he’d wormed his way into the Institute and into their lives. And now, he was maybe going to be the death of the entire Downworld. 

“Well, undispatch them, Alec,” Jace snapped, suddenly. Fuck, again. He couldn’t let the emotions out of their cells right now. He couldn’t let his worry get out, because it was going to paralyze him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’ll do what I can,” Alec replied. It was as good as a promise, to the both of them. 

Jace hung up. “Call Luke,” he turned to tell Simon. “I think we’re going to need the wolves on this one.” 

\-----------------

“Disregard that order.” 

Alec knew what was going to happen as Aldertree’s voice resounded behind him. He had been ordering people to disobey Aldertree for the past fifteen minutes or so. Though most of them were his friends and trusted his skills to know where they should be going, he’d expected to get reported sooner or later. 

He’d been trying to avoid Aldertree, to avoid being around him and face to face lately. Every time he saw his face, he just wanted to punch the guy, for what he’d done to Izzy. For abusing his power the way he had. Now, he couldn’t escape it anymore. But he could definitely use what he knew as a bargaining chip.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Aldertree exclaimed.

Alec walked up to the man. Two could play this game. He was more of a leader of this Institute than Aldertree would ever be. He’d lived and trained here for years, had been Acting Head for years every time his parents left town. There was no getting around the trust his people had in Alec. And Aldertree was currently finding out that he’d only been  _ allowed  _ power. 

“Stopping Valentine from destroying the Downworld,” Alec replied, crossing his arms. “Protecting the Shadow World from those who want it harmed. After all, isn’t that the Clave’s mission?” 

Aldertree raised an eyebrow. “And yet from the look of things, it's the Downworld that's trying to destroy us.”

Alec huffed. “Of course. The Downworlders seem to be rioting. I would expect you not to think further than that.” He snapped, contempt and pity sticky on his words. “Get out of the way, Victor. I have work to do.”

The man’s face was covered by a mask of rage. The insult to his leadership and intelligence weren’t going to go down well. Alec didn’t care. Aldertree had nothing on him. And he? Had so many things to tell the Inquisitor, if Aldertree didn’t let him do what he needed.

“What will you do if I don’t obey your orders?” Aldertree scoffed. “Go and cry back to your parents? The Lightwoods, who are currently under investigation by the Inquisitor herself?” 

Alec rolled his eyes. “I’ll go to Imogen myself. Cut out the middleman,” he shrugged. “Tell her a little about how you’ve been supplying yin fen to a subordinate.”

Aldertree paled. Alec walked closer to him, towering over him. “An ex-field medic should know better.”

Aldertree swallowed. “And you expect anyone to actually believe this ridiculous accusation?”

That was  _ adorable _ . Alec had been dealing with diplomacy since he’d been able to fit correctly into a suit proper enough for a Clave party. Aldertree had no idea about that because, as far as Alec remembered, the man hadn’t been invited to those kinds of parties. 

“Who knows?” Alec smirked, looking down at the man who was losing countenance more and more. “Idris loves gossip. Especially when it comes to the Lightwood name.”

Aldertree took a step back. Of course he knew about the famous Lightwood reputation. The Lightwoods collected scandals, and the last couple of months had been filled with some that made all of Alicante talk. 

Izzy’s alleged alliance to the Seelies by way of sleeping with them. Alec’s own failed wedding to Lydia Branwell, the Inquisitor’s protégée that had been stopped by none other than Magnus Bane, the notorious High Warlock of Brooklyn that he was now dating. His parents being part of the Circle originally, and the recent reveal of his father’s infidelity. Jace, their ward, revealed to be a Morgenstern. 

There were so many juicy tidbits that the gossips would, no doubt, jump at the opportunity to add a yin-fen scandal to the pile. 

“And I’ve checked your file, Victor,” Alec added. “You weren’t given the New York Institute command because you’re any good at leading. You’ve been making your way through the Shadow World, leaving desolate Institutes behind you. You're one Clave investigation away from treating frostbite on Wrangel Island. I’m sure the Inquisitor will love to know why the Stockholm Institute had such an enormous yin fen issue that half of their staff now lives in the attic of the Sanatorium.” 

Aldertree seemed completely unable to reply now, and Alec smirked.

“From now on,” he added. “I'm calling the shots. Don't ever threaten my family again. Now if you don't mind, I need these Shadowhunters to go find Clary. And end this whole thing in a way that doesn't get the Clave on all of our asses.” 

Aldertree’s voice was small when he finally spoke again.

“Do as he says.”

  
  


\---------------

Jace and Simon were waiting by the van when Luke parked next to them and got out of his car.

Jace was starting to get a little anxious. Alec had texted him back to tell him he had taken over the command of the Institute, but no one had heard from Izzy since she’d left to get to Clary. That had been over an hour ago. Alec had sent some people to where her motorcycle was supposed to be, but that was all the information they had.

He pushed that thought back to the back of his mind. Izzy could take care of herself. And right now, they had to focus on getting to Clary.

“Madzie portalled her away,” Jace explained. “We’re thinking she’s still in the city but it’s difficult to have anyone searching for her. Valentine freed some Downworlders he experimented on throughout the city and the Institute is busy with them.”

Luke sighed heavily. “I’ve heard.”

Simon crossed his arms, shifting his weight to his other foot. “We’ve been trying to find a way to locate Clary, but we don’t know how. Could some of the wolves help?” 

“Most of the pack is trying to help stop the others from wreaking too much havoc but it’s dangerous for them,” Luke explained. “Shadowhunters don’t discriminate between werewolves who mean well and werewolves who don’t. They just see big wolves.”

Jace nodded, an apologetic smile on his face.

Simon looked down for a moment. He looked like he was trying to remember something. When he looked back up a few seconds later, he looked a little hopeful. “Maybe we could try to track her? That’s what we did for my mom, and for Jocelyn, when she was trying to kill you.” 

Jace shook his head. It wasn’t a stupid idea but they couldn’t track her. “Her blocking rune is on. And we don’t have any of her belongings either. We need something like that to track her, there’s no other way.”

Luke was somber when he spoke next. “Actually… There might be another way.”

Jace turned towards him, surprised. He’d never heard of another way. He remembered having to break into people’s places as a child to get something he could track a Downworlder with. He shuddered at the thought. 

Luke swallowed. “There’s a rune.” 

“Yeah, the tracking rune, but we have nothing to track her with,” Jace reminded him. Maybe Luke had forgotten, since it had been eighteen years since he’d been a Shadowhunter.

Luke shook his head, holding out his hand. “No. It’s a rune that isn’t in the Gray Book.” 

Jace frowned. It’s not that it wasn’t possible, since Clary had used two previously unheard of runes in the past couple of months but… Clary was special. She had the blood of Ithuriel running through her veins, and that made her able to know runes no one else knew.

“A long time ago,” Luke explained. “Twenty years after the Accords were first signed, some runes were taken out of the versions of the Gray Book available to Shadowhunters outside of the Consul and the Inquisitor. They were deemed too dangerous for everyone to know, after… after they were used in a great plot to try and murder all Nephilim.” 

Jace sighed heavily. There were so many things that the Clave hid from everyone else, so many secrets that would only come out when it was too late, often. They’d forbidden everyone to talk about the Circle, allowing the Institutes to be unprepared when faced with Valentine’s plan. There was probably so much more, ready to explode in their faces.

“How do you know about those runes then?” Simon asked.

Luke had a little sad scoff. “Valentine and Robert Lightwood. Records of the runes had been kept by one of Robert’s ancestors, and it wasn’t so many generations away that knowledge of it had been completely forgotten. Robert, of course, shared it with Valentine. It was from there that Valentine got the idea of the Circle rune as a way to mark members. And it was from there that he got some other ideas…”

Jace felt a bit sick. Sick enough that he didn’t ask about those ideas. All he did was swallow.

“So, what’s the one that could help?” 

“It’s called the Blood Binding Rune,” Luke explained. “It allows a one-sided connection between the target and someone of the same blood as them. It works best on siblings and on direct parents. I’m thinking you could track Clary, Jace. You’re her brother, by both Valentine and Jocelyn.”

Right. Jace swallowed. A part of him was already screaming at him that it was a trap, but what options did they have? It seemed like the only way to actually track Clary and get to her before it was too late. Before Valentine activated the Soul Sword and murdered everyone, including Jace. 

“Is there a catch?” he asked, quietly, even if it was already obvious to everyone that he was going to do it.

“I don’t know,” Luke admitted. “I’ve never seen it used.”

Great. Jace closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, taking out his stele and pulling up the sleeve of his arm. “Can you describe it enough to me that I can draw it?” 

Luke nodded, and Jace got to work.

\-------------

Time was starting to feel incredibly long in the cells. 

Maia watched as guards made their rounds, watched the neon lights flicker from time to time. She played solitaire on her phone until it ran out of battery. She couldn’t exactly try to communicate with anyone, because there were no other prisoners that she could see. 

The basement level where the cells were seemed completely empty, except for a dozen guards and herself. If there was a sudden order for her to be killed, she wouldn’t be able to fight all of them off, she thought grimly.

She couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep herself from thinking about this. Being in the Institute was uncomfortable, even if she somewhat deserved it. She deserved a punishment, sure, for what she’d tried to do. She didn’t know why she’d done it. She was just so scared.

Maia was terrified of Valentine, of the Circle, of dying now that she’d managed to find some footing in this world.

Her phone was out of battery now, she was alone with her thoughts and it was starting to get more and more terrifying. She kept eyeing the guards, wishing they would just go away. 

She was both incredibly surprised and a bit anxious when they all started to walk away from their posts and back towards the elevators and the stairs, until no one she could see remained.

\---------------

Valentine was long gone now, coordinating Downworlder attacks on all of New York, it seemed. Clary hated how helpless she was. Without a stele, without a seraph blade, she felt like the only thing she could do was wait until someone came to get her, and she couldn’t stand it.

She’d never been content to wait around for people to save her. Especially now that she had some fighting skills. The power she felt when she was training with someone was unparalleled to anything she’d felt before. The power she realized she had when she looked at herself in the mirror, saw the muscles that were forming under her skin, made her so incredibly proud.

Right now, though? She was helpless, chained to the ground again and unable to get away. No matter how hard she pulled on the chain, it was probably designed not to give in. And she couldn’t activate the strength rune that was still carved on her stomach. 

She sighed, letting the chain hit the floor with a loud rattling sound, and stood up again. The fairground, or whatever location she’d ended up in, was deserted now. The Downworlders kept in cages around her before were now roaming the streets, ordered to hurt and kill, unable to go against Valentine’s command. Valentine himself was gone somewhere deeper, behind the merry-go-round, and the coin machines. Their lights reflected, yellow and blue and red, on the walls of the warehouse. 

As she looked around, she caught the sound of footsteps and turned towards where they seemed to be coming from. Was it Valentine, back for another round of trying to convince her they were the same, and that she should help him? 

The man walked towards her and though he was wearing clothes as dark as Valentine’s, he definitely wasn’t him.

“Jace!” Clary called out, relief flooding her at the sight of her brother.

He ran to her, much more quiet than she was. 

“Clary!” He exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Where's Valentine?” 

He seemed to be in combat mode, not looking for a way to free her yet, but first just looking around for the nearest threat.

“I don't know,” Clary replied. “All the Circle members just left in a hurry, after they freed the Downworlders.” 

Jace looked around for a little longer before his eyes stopped on the chains that held her ankles to the ground. 

“Okay,” he replied. “Don't move.” 

She swallowed as he raised his seraph blade. He hit the chain with it, hard, the way he’d tried to do with the chains that held Ithuriel. This time, it worked. Clary exhaled. She moved her leg and though a shackle and some chains were still attached to her foot, she was free.

They looked at each other and started running towards the exit. The bit of chain rattled too loudly after Clary but she didn’t care, she needed out. They were almost at the door, almost out, when a voice resounded in the shadows. The door slammed shut, moved by invisible threads. Magic.

“Going someplace?” Valentine asked, stepping out of the shadows. He was holding the hand of Madzie, the little warlock girl. Clary’s heart stopped. Seeing him like this with Madzie was… a strange and unnerving sight. 

Both Jace and Clary stopped dead in their tracks. Jace raised his seraph blade. Clary raised her fists. 

“I didn't think so,” Valentine added, and let go of the little girl’s hand. He sighed heavily, looking from Madzie to Clary, something akin to sadness on his face. Or was it… regret? Clary couldn’t tell. 

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed being able to be your father, Clarissa,” he started. “Holding your hand, getting you ice cream… being able to love you. I loved your mother but I hate her for what she did. For forbidding me to be in your life.”

Jace tensed next to Clary, and she shot a glance at him. He looked incredibly angry, rage building into his eyes. “I know first hand what your love is like, Valentine,” Jace spat, barely controlling his anger. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone my sister.” 

Valentine watched him for a moment. “It would have been different, for Clarissa. I wouldn’t have asked of her the same things I asked of you. You’re my first born son, Jonathan. Your duties are different from hers. And she’s Angel-blooded. You’re…  _ not _ .” He said, dragging onto the last word with clear disgust.

Clary felt Jace break his resolve then, and she didn’t really understand why, because she didn’t know all the details of his childhood. She screamed his name as he launched forwards, towards Valentine, and was stopped dead in his tracks by golden magic.

Madzie had frozen him into place, and she stared at him like he was a monster, eyes wide and afraid.

Valentine smirked. “She's strong for her age, isn't she?” 

“Madzie,” Clary fell to her knees, staring at Madzie now, not at Valentine anymore. “Hey, please... Please let Jace go.” 

Valentine huffed. “Now why would she do that, hmm? Didn’t you see that he was trying to harm me?” 

Clary glared at him. “Because you wanna hurt people. People like Iris.” 

Valentine raised an eyebrow, before turning to the young warlock. “Don't forget... this is the mean person that got your nana in trouble in the first place. Now, if you want to see Iris, you have to be a good little girl and do exactly what I say, okay?” 

Valentine was opening his mouth to keep talking when someone appeared behind him. He turned around, surprised, only to be punched in the face, hard. As he stumbled back, Clary was able to see the slightly smaller man behind him. Simon.

Madzie lost her focus and Jace was freed.

“Clary, run!” Simon shouted, as he punched Valentine again.

Valentine smirked, and hit him back. Simon was a recently turned, 18-year-old vampire. Valentine had been fighting and training for at least 30 years of his life. Simon was absolutely no match, and Clary barely had time to register what Simon had said before he was incapacitated, and had a knife to his throat.

Valentine smirked, blood dripping slightly from the corner of his mouth, from the punches he’d taken. “Brave and stupid,” he chuckled. He then turned to Madzie. 

“Sweetheart, save your magic for what's to come. It's time to go.” 

Madzie nodded, and opened a portal behind Valentine and Simon. Clary’s blood froze in her veins. Simon’s eyes were wide, terrified of what was to come. 

“I'll see you soon, Clarissa,” Valentine exclaimed, as he walked backwards into the portal.

“Simon!” Clary screamed, and started running towards the portal. Jace grabbed her before she could reach it, keeping her from jumping head first, weaponless, into a nest of Circle members, or worse, into the void. 

“Simon, no!” She screamed as she struggled against her brother’s grip, desperate.

\-------------

Izzy’s back was incredibly stiff when she came back to herself. Her eyes opened widely, suddenly, as she realized why. 

It was due to the way she was positioned. She tried to move her arms but couldn’t. They were bound, with strong thick rope, behind the back of the chair she was sat on. Her shoulders were forced back, over the top rail. She shifted and groaned as pain lanced through her joints. 

There was rope around her waist too, holding her to the back posts. And around her ankles, to the front legs of the chair. It seemed a smooth metal chair too, the kind that wouldn’t break if she tried to escape, and without any ridges that could cut through rope. She was trapped.

What had happened was a little clearer now… The Somnus rune had been burnt into her cleavage. She tried to look down, but even with her dress hem ripped down, she couldn’t see the spot where she’d been marked. It was probably gone by now, the Somnus was one of those runes that faded away in between uses. 

Izzy looked up, trying to pierce the darkness of her surroundings. The room was humid, and hot, and her hair was already moist from sweat. Her holster wasn’t around her thigh anymore, and she couldn’t see it anywhere. She had no stele and no seraph blade, and someone had ripped her bracelet from her arm, leaving her without her whip, and with red marks over her skin.

She was alone. She couldn’t hear anyone walking or breathing, so she had to be. Which didn’t help her to know what they wanted from her. Or who they were, in the first place. They were Shadowhunters… 

_ A dark red, angry circle rune on the man’s neck. _

Fuck. The Circle. Izzy swore under her breath. She should have known. She should have expected it. 

There was no way for her to escape. She didn’t know how to reach her family either. They’d taken her phone, and even if they hadn’t the ropes were too solid around her wrists for her to get to it and use it. Fuck. 

Maybe Alec had felt the Somnus rune through their bond… Hopefully. He would probably tell Jace and get some people to search for her, right? And Clary…

Clary. Was she alive? Was she dead? 

Izzy pulled on the ropes, hard, biting her lip to keep from groaning in pain from the position and the strain on her arms. She only stopped trying when she tasted blood in her mouth from biting too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 28   
>    
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	28. By the Light of Dawn Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> There's some mentions of suicide and Clary gets bitten.
> 
> Have fun!

The alarms blared loudly throughout the Institute. There was no way to miss them, the entire building coming alight with red lights and the noise that was projected through speakers from the ops room into the very bedrooms of the Shadowhunters.

“Wards Breach” was written in red angry letters on all screens, including phones, and hovering over the prep stations.

Alec reacted immediately, preparation made instinct by repetition. He fell to his knees, grabbed his stele and activated one of the runes carved into the floor of the war room. The clinking noises of all the weapon drawers opening could be heard in the armory, the training room and deeper into the corridors, where the caches were. 

He himself took the closest bow he could find. 

Aldertree came rushing in, his sword unsheathed and activated. “I thought these wards were airtight.” He started, accusingly looking at Alec.

Alec shrugged off the obvious fight that Aldertree wanted to start. The wards were Magnus’ work, and Magnus was Alec’s boyfriend. In Aldertree’s mind, and in a lot of other people’s, he guessed, Alec was responsible for them. Well. He would deal with that when the wards weren’t breached.

“How many soldiers are here?” Alec asked, completely ignoring what Aldertree was insinuating. 

Aldertree, thankfully, did not press on the finger-pointing. “Only two dozen. Everyone else is out dealing with the Downworld attacks.”

Fuck. That was why the Downworlders had been attacking mundanes. Alec could feel the trap closing around them and he swallowed. As long as Jace got to Clary before she could be used to activate the Soul Sword... 

“You cover the weapons room,” Alec ordered Aldertree. “You take the Core room,” he gestured towards another leader. “I'll take the entry with Longford.”

He grabbed the closest tablet and hit a couple of buttons, sending messages to the phones of all Shadowhunters that were under the Institute’s leadership. They should have gotten the Wards Breach message anyway, but he wanted to make sure they knew they had to come back and help defend the Institute. 

Longford held a bow in his hands as well as they walked towards the entryway, followed by a couple of other soldiers. 

“Valentine's work?” Longford asked, as they got their bows ready to shoot anyone who might be coming in. 

“Probably,” Alec replied. He didn’t have time to add much more.

The doors to the entryway opened.

There were three bodies, the ones of the guards that had been guarding the door.

And, standing in the middle of the corridor, was a familiar little girl, whom Alec recognized immediately.

With her pigtails, her big dark eyes and the handkerchief tied around her neck, it was the little girl that had been living with Iris Rouse. If he remembered well, her name was Madzie. And she was the one Clary had had to find to stay alive.

Next to him, Longford started pulling at the string of his bow, ready to shoot. Alec held up a hand.

“Hold your fire.”

Madzie walked closer to them, her eyes going from Alec to the other soldiers quickly. The door closed behind her. 

Something was wrong. As far as he knew, Jace and Simon had found Madzie so the blood oath could be fulfilled. And then Clary had been taken by Valentine… 

“What's a little girl doing here all alone?” Longford asked in a hushed, worried tone next to him. He had a daughter Madzie’s age, if Alec remembered well. 

Alec started walking towards her, slowly. They knew each other. Madzie had defended him against Iris when they were fighting her in her home, trying to save Clary. They didn’t know each other well, but maybe...

“She's a warlock,” Alec explained. He shifted his bow into his right hand, reaching for the little girl.

“Madzie…”

She watched him with big eyes. She was the only one there. She must have been the one to kill these three guards. Alec’s blood froze in his veins. She was, what, 5 years old? And she’d already killed at least three people, probably under Valentine’s orders… 

“Did you…” he stopped talking. He knew she’d killed them. There was no other way, none that he could think of. 

Madzie watched him for a moment, and reached up. Alec reached down to take her hand, but instead she gestured, golden magic erupting from her fingers.

Unable to do anything, Alec was projected, hard, into the elevator. His bow clinkered on the floor. The doors of the elevator slammed shut behind him.

All he could do was desperately try to pry open the doors, the sounds of his men dying resounding in the small metal cage of the elevator.

\-----------------

Clary couldn’t stop staring at the spot where her best friend had just disappeared, a blade held to his throat. Her mind was running wild. Stress and fear held her heart in a vice-like grip, made her feel like she was going to explode from tension any moment. She whipped around.

Jace was standing there, his blade in hand, and his eyes a little lost. When they finally settled on Clary again, she saw his eyes widen. She probably looked more upset than she had in a long time.

“Clary, we can't panic,” Jace pointed out. 

She rolled her eyes. Of course he would say that. It wasn’t Jace or Izzy in Valentine’s hands right now. It was Simon. Clary’s Simon. Who had only been part of the Shadow World for four months… Who hadn’t gotten the intense training that Clary had been subjected to by Hodge, Jace, Izzy and Alec. She could somewhat handle herself, but he couldn’t. All he knew of battle was D&D campaigns.

“Valentine's a psychopath,” Clary snapped. “He's capable of anything. Simon is innocent, in all of this. The only reason Valentine took him captive is because  _ I _ care about him.” 

It was all her fault. She had been too complacent around Valentine, she’d underestimated him. She’d gotten herself captured, and she’d gotten Simon into trouble because of course he’d jumped to try and defend her. She shook her head, crossing her arms, and trying to keep her tears at bay.

Jace didn’t have time to reply anything, Luke came running in then. “Hey. All the prisoners are either dead or gone. It’s deserted.” 

Clary watched him, watched as Luke's eyes scanned the room and he realized that Simon wasn’t there anymore. 

“Valentine took him,” Jace explained before Luke could ask what had happened. 

Clary felt the tears running down her face, and she sniffled, failing to keep her composure. She hated this so much. She hated that her father was a psychopath who didn’t care who he hurt, as long as he got what he wanted. 

Jace pulled her in, and even if she was a little mad at him, Clary let him. She let him comfort her because, right now, it made no sense to do anything else. She was so tired, and the idea that Simon was in Valentine’s hands was terrifying.

“Hey,” Jace whispered against her hair. “It's gonna be okay.” 

She closed her eyes and let herself believe that it would be. That Simon was safe and okay. She was barely into her fantasy when Luke’s phone rang loudly. She let go of Jace as Luke slid the phone out of his pocket and showed them the screen.

Incoming Video Call, from Simon. Fuck. It couldn’t be good. 

Luke sent her a questioning look, and she nodded a little. They had to answer it. Luke’s thumb glided over the green button and they huddled around him to see what was going on. 

And it was horrifying.

Simon was strapped to a chair in what seemed to be the Head of Institute’s office. Tape was covering his mouth, and his wrists were held down by large metal manacles that seemed to be  _ built into  _ the chair. 

“No,” Clary blurted out. Her voice was deep, terrified, so incredibly far away. 

Valentine appeared, standing in front of the camera, hiding the struggling Simon from her. 

“Hello, Clarissa,” Valentine said, as if he hadn’t last seen her less than 30 minutes ago. As if hearing him say her name didn’t make her gut twist in disgust and dread. “Wish we were chatting under more civilized circumstances, but I'm afraid I've run out of options.”

And whose fault was that? Clary wanted to scream and cry and tell him she’d do anything so he would let Simon go. She wanted to puke.

“Let Simon go.”

Valentine smiled at her, almost sweetly. “Absolutely. Just as soon as you come back to the Institute. I need you to activate the sword for me.” 

Clary shook her head. “That is  _ never _ going to happen.” 

“Oh,” Valentine replied, but his dark eyes said something else, something else than the almost casual way he spoke. “But I think it will. Because if you don't show up within the hour…”

He moved back a little and revealed Simon, Simon who seemed to be screaming behind the tape, his head desperately shaking. He looked so young, so scared, and so close to death, that the shaking of his head was almost ridiculous. Clary bit her lip, hard. 

As if satisfied with the display of Simon’s despair, Valentine turned back towards her. “Your vampire friend here is gonna die a death I wouldn't wish upon anyone.”

And with that, as casual as he had been the rest of the time, Valentine hung up. 

Clary breathed out, and it hurt to breathe back in, her lungs struggling to function properly, the anxiety and fear crushing her entire body. 

Fuck. Fuck everyone, fuck everything. Fuck this. She’d stopped crying, she realized. Good. She was going to get to Valentine and get Simon out. She looked up at Jace for a minute. She was going to go in, and get Simon out. And if she fell prisoner to Valentine, well… Either Jace or herself would put on an end to it. There weren’t many other options.

“Are there any weapon caches around?” She asked Jace, who looked a little surprised at her sudden change. She’d been crying and begging just earlier, and now, she’d switched to war. 

Jace turned, grabbing his own phone. He was probably pulling up a map, or maybe he was texting Alec and Izzy. Clary swallowed. She needed her things. Her phone was probably fried somewhere, her stele had disappeared, and she hadn’t been wearing a blade when she’d left the Institute, the curse burning away at her hand. 

Luke stood there, watching her with worried eyes and she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What are we waiting for? Let's go,” Clary exclaimed, almost snapping at him from worry and adrenaline. 

Luke shook his head. “That's what Valentine wants. You know that if you touch that sword, he can destroy the entire Downworld, including Simon.” 

Clary rolled her eyes at that. A storm was brewing but it was going to be a long time before there was actual lightning coming from it. She looked at him. “No, Valentine needs an energy source. He needs lightning.”

Jace turned back from his phone and towards them. “Alec’s not picking up. He’s probably still at the Institute with everyone.” 

Luke sighed heavily. “Valentine’s in the Institute. He doesn’t need lightning anymore.” 

Clary frowned. “What do you mean? Does the Institute have some sort of storm maker?” 

“No, but it has an energy source,” Jace whispered then, realization hitting him. “Every Institute is powered by an angelic power core. It’s like a big angelic battery, made of magic and keeping the Institute powered up. That’s what allows us to be completely off the grid and not worry mundanes with electricity issues.”

Clary turned back to Luke, who nodded, confirming what Jace was saying. So he had the Sword, lightning, and if he got Clary… he would get an activated Soul Sword. Fuck. This couldn’t get worse, couldn’t it? 

Because she couldn’t just leave Simon behind. Not when his life was hanging in the balance, and not when it was all her fault. 

“Let's move,” Clary hissed. “Valentine is gonna wish he never laid a hand on Simon. I'll make sure of it.”

Luke grabbed her arm, keeping her from moving forward. “You're not going anywhere near that Institute. We're taking you to Magnus. He can protect you.”

Clary pushed Luke back, hard. She was tired of it. This was her life and she was going to sacrifice it if it meant saving Simon. That was the least she could do for what she’d done to him, what she’d made of him. If she had to go in, free him, and kill herself, she would.

“No, I don't need to be protected. I need to save Simon.”

Luke shook his head. “The vampires and the Seelies have allied themselves against you. They will kill you on sight.” 

Clary tried very hard to care, for a moment, but seemed to fail at it. 

“I can save Simon,” Jace offered. 

“Doesn't work that way. If I'm not the one who shows up, Valentine is gonna kill him.”

She was tired, so tired of being the one that had to be protected, while everyone around her sacrificed themselves for her. She was so tired, it was time for her to take the heat. 

They knew she was right about all of this. They knew there was no other way than her going into the mouth of Hell and saving Simon herself. 

She started walking again towards the exit, and this time, neither of them stopped her. She was almost at the door when another voice, one she hadn’t heard in months, one that had taken over her nightmares some nights, resounded. 

“Wait!”

Jace grabbed his seraph blade, and the three of them ran towards the origin of the voice. In one of the cages that had held Valentine’s experimented-on army, curled up in a corner, breathing raggedly, her skin grey like the dead, was Dot. 

“Dot?” Clary breathed out.

Dot looked up at her. She looked like she’d been barely hanging on to consciousness, trying desperately to stay awake so she could tell them she was here. The last time Clary had seen Dot, the woman had opened the wards of Valentine’s ship so they wouldn’t kill Clary and Jace as they escaped. 

Clary had almost forgotten about her in the months since then. She couldn’t help the pang of guilt in her chest. 

Dot dragged herself closer to the door of the cage, her mouth open. When she spoke, it was barely over a whisper. “There's another way to destroy the sword,” she said. 

Clary was about to ask what when Dot’s arms gave out, and without them to prop herself up, she crumbled to the floor. When they managed to open the door, she was already unconscious. 

\--------------

Dot was curled up on the couch, a thick blanket, made of a patchwork of various squares of different-colored wools that Magnus had knitted himself on countless nights, his glasses perched on his nose and music playing. She looked small and she was so pale, so much paler than he’d ever known her to be. She was paler than the day she’d gone through the ice on the Prospect Park Lake. One second, her hand had been in Magnus’. The next, she’d gone through the ice with a shattering scream of surprise and fear. He’d gotten her out of the ice within seconds but she had felt frozen to the touch, and it had taken hours of hot baths for her to stop shivering.

She’d been in a terrible state then, but she hadn’t had those grey veins marking her face, the signs of Valentine’s horrible experiments on her. Magnus wanted to make sure to keep her safe from anything else, as if it would repair what he did, repair the fact that he hadn’t gone looking for her the way he should have, months ago.

“There you go,” Magnus whispered, gently putting a mug filled with soup into her hands. He knew it was her favorite comfort beverage. She’d been born in Japan, at the end of the 15th century, right at the beginning of the  _ Sengoku Jidai.  _ Magnus knew one or two recipes from that time, mostly because she’d taught them to him. “You'll start feeling better in no time.”

Dot smiled weakly up at him, breathing in the scented air from the soup. “Thank you.”

Magnus took a step back, and immediately, Clary moved in in his place. “Dot, tell us everything you know.”

Magnus sighed heavily. He knew time was running out for Simon but Clary’s briskness and what seemed to be a lack of concern for the state Dot was in, annoyed him a bit.

Dot sighed heavily, and took a sip of her soup. “I heard Valentine briefing his men. If Jace bleeds then touches the sword, his grip would destroy it.”

_ What _ ? Magnus turned to Jace, who was shaking his head. “Me?” 

“Why should we believe a word she says? It's probably just another trap,” Luke pointed out, and Magnus had to bite back a couple of remarks. After all, Dot had helped Jocelyn, and so had Magnus, despite the fact she had been working with Valentine for years and had killed warlocks herself. And so had Luke. 

Jace sighed heavily. “Wait, in the vision from Ithuriel, the demon that destroyed the sword had a clawed hand.” Magnus almost thanked Jace for pulling everyone back to where they should have been. 

“Exactly,” Clary pointed out. “It has nothing to do with you.”

Magnus sighed a little. “Perhaps I can lend some insight. I am more versed in both angelic and demonic languages and symbology than the two of you are.”

Asmodeus had made sure to teach him everything he knew about Angels, and about demons. That was one perk of having a Fallen Angel as a father, Magnus guessed. He knew more than he had ever wished to know about angels. 

“Show me this vision.”

Clary and Jace walked to stand in front of him and Magnus reached up, each hand holding one of the siblings on the back of the head. He took a deep breath, and called forth the vision. Not the memory they had of it, but the vision itself, the message from the Angel.

_ A demonic hand, the skin the color of burnt coals, cracked and dry like a desert, nails more akin to claws than human nails, wrapping around the golden hilt in an unnatural, evil sight.  _

_ The Ancient Runes etched into the blade glowing with magic.  _

_ The Sword disintegrating, as well as the hand and the hooded figure it belonged to, their bones a clean and sickening white flashing for a second, reflection almost the light of a single, brilliant star in the sky. _

Magnus blinked as the vision ended, looking at the two of them for a second. 

“The star in the sky,” Magnus pointed out. Jace and Clary looked at him with a bit of confusion. He sighed softly. “You focused on the demon’s hand, and forgot to look at the bigger picture. The star in the sky, it has a meaning.”

Clary blinked at him. “What is it?” 

“Your name. Morgenstern means "Morning Star," as in, ‘ _ How are thou fallen from heaven, O, Lucifer, son of the morning’ _ ,” Magnus explained. “Your family was always known as the children of Lucifer, or at least your ancestors wanted to be known as such. As descendants of the divine, with an even clearer connection to the Angels than the rest of the Clave. It was always one of the arguments behind their claim for power…” 

Jace nodded. “Valentine… believed in those stories. I was told many times when I was growing up, how some families were especially blessed.”

Clary hummed. “So… Does the star in the sky mean that the Morgensterns must be present when the Sword is destroyed?” She asked. 

Magnus shook his head. “Not exactly. I theorize that it has more to do with the identity of the destroyer. A Morgenstern, with demon blood.”

Clary gasped, turning to Jace immediately. The man’s face hardened, his eyes harsh like steel as he nodded. “That’s me,” Jace said, and even as he tried to keep himself from showing any emotion, he failed. The shards of pain in his voice as he kept talking betrayed him. “That's why Valentine wanted me under his control. I can derail his plan. I can destroy the Soul Sword.”

The rest of the vision was still true, however. And if Jace did destroy the Soul Sword…

“And destroy yourself in the process,” Magnus pointed out.

Jace looked back at him. He was firm, certain that he had to do it. There was nothing in him that seemed to regret the fact he might die from this, and Magnus’ heart broke for the young man. So young, so ready to end it all. It wasn’t right. Damn Valentine and what he had done to make his son so… broken. Damn the Clave too, who had probably seen Jace’s obedience and willingness to put himself in danger as a quality to be fostered, something that made him a better element in their insane death cult.

“No,” Clary called out. “No way.” 

Jace turned to her, his eyes hard, his jaw locked. “I’m ready to let you go in and save Simon. Let me go in and save everyone else,” he said to her, and something deeper was meant behind these words, something Magnus wasn’t privy to. 

Clary swallowed, and Magnus could see her eyes searching the room, searching for something to argue back with and failing. He didn’t know exactly what saving Simon implied, but he knew that it was enough like Jace destroying himself that she couldn’t say anything back. 

“I…” Clary started, reaching to grab Jace’s arm. She couldn’t find her words, her mouth closing and opening like a fish out of water. She was so desperate to find something to convince him from going… Suddenly, she stopped her agitated search, and stilled. She looked up at her brother and swallowed heavily. 

Tears were brimming her eyes.

“Okay.” 

\--------------------

Maia was alone.

It was wrong for her to be, and she could feel that she was in danger, but she didn’t know exactly how. 

Maybe it was… Maybe it was being stuck in the Institute like this, that made her feel like she was stuck in between the jaws of a giant wolf trap. After all, the Institute, with its adamas walls, the angelic power weaving through every molecule of the place, and the dozens upon dozens of Shadowhunters, was a trap for werewolves, a hunting trap. A giant net of possible semi-angelic retribution, from people who believed they were so much better than her, just because they’d been born a certain way.

Maia shuddered, in a way that made her entire body shake from head to toe. She was cold. 

She was about to lay down on the little bed-like piece of furniture that was the only thing in the cell, when a door banged open, loudly, deep into the corridors of the basement level.

She shot to her feet. 

Three Shadowhunters, in dark clothing with glowing seraph blades came through the door and down the corridor. Two men and a woman, their faces cool and hard, the only emotion readable there was certainty. They were the kind of soldiers who would die for their leader. One of the men had blue eyes, like ice when they fixed on Maia. 

They were coming for her.

She knew it, deep down in her bones, and it barely took a second for her to summon the wolf. The wolf came, the power running through her entire body. Her bones broke, her skin tore, her body bent in and out of shape. The fabric of her clothing shredded, the big empty cell resounding with all the noises of her Turn, the ripping of cloth clean and sharp over the rest. 

When the door of her cell opened, she stood on four legs, her eyes shone green and she was growling in warning.

The metal door banged against the wall and Maia pounced. She tore at the first man, the one with the blue eyes, teeth digging and ripping through flesh. Blood filled her mouth, screams her ears. 

She was pulled violently from her victim, and she felt a weapon dig into her side. She howled in pain. It was the first time she’d been harmed with a seraph blade, and it burnt like fire through her veins. She whined. It was like poison, she felt. Angelic magic, right? 

The pain made her vision blur and it was enough for the wolf to entirely take over. She blacked out.

When she came back to reality, she was a human again. She was naked, covered in blood. She pushed her fingers through the red mass like paint, and she brought it to her nose. She breathed in, hard. It wasn’t entirely her own. 

There was a seraph blade, the size of a dagger, buried in her side. She grabbed it, and slid it out, screaming in pain. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anyone else coming. 

Around her were the torn bodies of the three Circle members that had tried to kill her. Her left arm was broken, but the left arm of the woman who had attacked her laid several feet from the rest of her. 

Either way, dead or alive, they would probably come after her when they realized that the people they’d sent weren’t coming back. She needed to get out.

Naked, limping, covered in the blood of four people, unarmed, Maia started walking. 

\--------------------

Alec had managed to get himself out of the elevator, but by the time he had done so, Madzie was gone. He had heard Valentine’s voice, sickeningly sweet, talking to the little girl that he was using in such horrible ways. Now, Alec was walking through the Institute, weapons ready, counting the bodies that littered the floor and checking for Circle runes. He needed to know how many were dead. He needed to know if the Institute could rise up again.

And by the looks of it, the Institute had entirely fallen to the Circle. 

His phone buzzed in his hand. He’d put it on vibration a moment ago, not wanting for anyone to hear the ringing and know he was there, still alive and talking to people from the outside. He’d tried to call his mom’s number, but she hadn’t picked up. He had no idea if Idris even knew the Institute had fallen.

It was Jace calling him now, and when he picked up, he heard the noise of a car engine and of a police siren. 

“Are you okay?” Jace asked, and Alec sighed a little.

“We're under attack,” he replied quietly, trying to be discreet as he lifted a woman’s dark hair to check for pulse, and for a Circle rune. “Major casualties. Valentine used Madzie to take down the wards. She suffocated everyone.”

Jace swore under his breath. “Where's Izzy?” 

“She wasn't here.” 

Alec had no idea where she was. He was starting to worry a little, because he couldn’t reach her through the bond. Either she’d completely cloaked herself to avoid detection, or something was horribly wrong. And he couldn’t deal with her being in danger right now, not when he might be the last soldier of the Institute alive.

“Oh, thank the Angel,” Jace replied. “Okay,” he started again. “Valentine's there to use the power core instead of lightning. He's got Simon and he's threatening to kill him if Clary doesn't come and activate the sword.”

Fuck. That sounded like everything was going to shit and there was no way to stop Valentine. Alec shoved the doubts and fears down violently.

“You have to keep Clary away from that sword,” he ordered.

“Don't worry,” Jace replied. “She's with Magnus. Luke and I are coming for it now. Just get to the power core. Shut it down. That way, no matter who touches the sword, it won't turn on.”

That sounded right. Except Alec was pretty sure that the power core room was overrun by Circle members. He tried to think of another way to shut it down without getting himself killed before he could actually do it.

He started walking into the war room again, towards the staircase, when he was shoved.

The phone slipped from his hands and clattered down onto the floor. His bow hit the floor as well. He barely had time to get back up that he heard the telltale noise of a seraph sword cutting through the air. 

He shoved himself back, his back turned to the assaillant. He kneeled that way, grabbing the man’s arm and forcing the sword to slash through the air in front him, rather than through him. He could feel the man’s chest against his shoulders and the back of his head, his weight as he struggled to get free of Alec’s grip and strike again.

Alec elbowed the man in the chest. It was enough for the man’s grip on his sword to loosen, and Alec took it over, shoving the man back and swinging himself to his feet. The assaillant threw himself at him, hoping that Alec would still be unsteady, but he wasn’t. He cut down the man in one strike.

As the man crumbled onto the floor, Alec saw the red circle of burnt flesh on his neck. 

He didn’t see the woman coming, ready to pierce his side. The tip of the sword grazed his jacket but she was diverted by someone else, coming right at that moment from another direction.

The force of the hit against her sword forced the woman to her knees and the other Shadowhunter cut up, the blade going cleanly through the tender flesh of her throat. She stumbled to the ground, her hand going up to her throat. The Shadowhunter was merciless. His sword impaled her chest. 

Aldertree pulled out his sword from the woman’s body and looked up at Alec, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Alec swallowed. He would not hear the end of that particular save. He decided to be the bigger man.

“That's not bad…” Alec pointed out. “For a diplomat.” 

Aldertree smirked at him, almost as if they were friends now and that was banter between the two of them. Alec swallowed the need to shut down that particular idea very quickly. They started walking towards the staircase.

\---------------

Magnus had been standing on his balcony for a while now, and Clary didn’t know if she should disturb him. She’d spent some time with Dot, guilt eating away at her as they talked quietly, before the warlock had fallen asleep in Magnus’ guest bedroom. 

It was strange to see Dot like this, in this world. It was strange because for Clary, she was still a person from her past, from her mundane life, before all of this, before her birthday. She’d seen her so little in the Shadow World that her mind hadn’t really taken all of the information about her being a warlock in.

Clary sighed, sitting up from the couch and walking over to where Magnus was standing, his eyes lost in the darkness of the night. It was past midnight, and in a couple of hours, the sun would rise again. 

“Are you okay?” She asked softly, and he jumped out of his skin, turning around suddenly.

He settled when he saw her, and nodded. “Yes,” Magnus said softly. “I just have been a little… stressed.” 

They had no news from the Institute, Alec and Izzy seemed to not be answering their phones. Clary could only imagine the things Magnus was thinking, with his long life and his memories of situations she imagined could be like this one. 

“I’m not used to being this powerless in my own fate,” Magnus pointed out, and she was about to ask why when Luke’s phone rang in her hand. 

She still didn’t have her own, and it was probably lost now, either at the fairground or somewhere else entirely. She’d just get a new one when all of this was over.

It was Simon calling, again, and when she answered it, Magnus hovering behind her, it was obvious that he still wasn’t free. 

He was still sitting in the chair with the shackles, and Valentine was kneeling at his side, level to him on the screen of the phone. 

“Oh, my God!” Clary exclaimed. “Simon, are you okay?” 

His eyes darted from her to Valentine, and he seemed to be breathing heavily, panicked, terrified. He was still a prisoner and he wasn’t okay, and all Clary was really doing right now was watching him, and waiting, not even really doing anything to save him. 

“Simon's fine,” Valentine replied. Simon didn’t even shake his head this time. It was as if he was trying not to move at all. “We've just been having a nice talk.”

Clary frowned a little. What could they have been talking about? 

“You know, he told me your greatest wish was to get to know your old man,” Valentine continued. 

Clary’s jaw set. He wasn’t wrong. She remembered praying, with her limited understanding of prayer, to be able to see her father, when she thought he was still Jonathan Clark. Now… Now she didn’t really want Valentine as a father, not really. Clary swallowed.  _ She was lying to herself, and she knew it.  _ She was still yearning to know him, know what it was like to know her dad. She hated it.

“Which is funny, because it's always been my wish to get to know my daughter,” Valentine said. He sounded genuine, and it made Clary so mad she felt tears stinging in her eyes. “And so, I'm here, and I'm waiting for you. And frankly, well... Clarissa, I'm losing my patience.”

He stood up then, Simon’s eyes widening. Something was wrong. Clary barely had time to open her mouth to say anything.

Valentine grabbed Simon’s chin, forcing his head back to expose his throat. In his other hand, he held the Soul Sword. The large, sharp, beautifully-carved blade of it cut through Simon’s skin like a knife through warm butter. 

Clary gasped in shock. She couldn’t breathe, her heart stopped, her eyes wide, her entire body refusing the sight of the blood that poured, fountain-like, from the gash in Simon’s throat.

Valentine let go of him, walking back to the camera and sighing. “The vampire has a half-hour, maybe less, before he turns to dust. Come quick, Clarissa. He needs blood to survive.” 

Clary couldn’t speak. She watched the image of her best friend, limbs twitching as he lost all blood, disappear into black as the call ended. She made noises like a wounded animal, she couldn’t keep herself from it. The phone clattered to the floor when her hand finally unlocked.

She fell. Her knees hit the concrete of the balcony hard, sending a flash of pain through her legs. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see anything. The world blurred behind tears and fear and pain like she’d never felt before.

Magnus’ hands were on her, pulling her back to her feet quickly. She looked up at him. He was blurry. She didn't care.

“Portal me to the Institute.” 

Her voice was broken, empty. She didn’t care about anything right now.

“Clary, we can't...” 

“Now!” Clary snapped. “I won’t touch the Sword. I’ll kill myself before I even get there, but I need to get to Simon.”

Magnus might have nodded, or said something, but she didn’t watch, or listen. 

_ Simon with blood pouring from the gash in his throat. Thirty minutes, at most.  _

\------------

Bodies laid on the hardwood floor of the Institute corridors, every few feet, and Alec and Aldertree kept walking up to familiar faces. Alec wondered if Aldertree cared that they were all dead. He barely knew most of these people. Aldertree had only been in New York since early May. What were less than four months to the years Alec had spent with most of the dead? 

If he cared, Aldertree didn’t show it. He had a good Seelie composure, a skill from diplomacy, Alec guessed. He knew he was probably better. He was a Lightwood, after all. Lightwoods were better at diplomacy than Aldertrees. 

The lights flickered as they walked down the corridor, towards the staircase. 

“Looks like he's already tapping the energy supply,” Aldertree pointed out. Alec had let him know of Valentine’s plan. He didn’t trust Aldertree as far as he could throw him, but sharing strategic information, like what they were doing and why, was the only way for this to go right. “We need to get to that power core and shut it down.” 

“It'll be heavily guarded.” Either of them would probably die on the way there. Alec had a strong preference on whom. 

“We'll get to it via the rooftop,” Aldertree pointed out. “There’s a hatch there, an access point.”

Alec frowned a little. He didn’t remember there being an access point there. But he also knew that his parents hadn’t told him everything about the secrets only the Heads of the Institute knew. That was probably one of them. They hadn’t expected him to have to use an emergency access point to the angelic power core when they weren’t here. Why would they have thought of that? 

“Hell if I'm gonna let that bastard destroy the entire Downworld,” Aldertree grumbled, and Alec raised an eyebrow, looking at him.

“What, suddenly you care about the Downworld?” He asked, sarcasm so clear in his voice that laughing to Aldertree’s face would have probably had the same effect. 

Aldertree whipped around, looking up at Alec with a look offence so forced that Alec rolled his eyes. 

“I'm an officer of the Clave,” Aldertree exclaimed. “Sworn to protect Downworlders and mundanes alike!” 

“Right,” Alec replied. Aldertree was probably more worried about losing his job because of all of this than about the sake of the Downworld. Alec had heard the way Aldertree talked about Shadow People. How he would go on about their inability to control themselves, how animalistic they were. 

“I'm not the big bad wolf you think I am,” Aldertree tried, but Alec didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t the time for Aldertree to try and weasel his way into Alec’s good graces. They had people to save. Magnus, included. 

Besides, Aldertree was far from the inoffensive man that he said he was. Even here, standing like this and looking at Alec like he was expecting Alec to forgive him for everything he had done or said… They were a few feet away from the room where Izzy had told him what Aldertree had done. 

“No, you're worse,” Alec snapped, looking at the man. “You got my sister hooked on yin fen.” 

Aldertree sighed. “Your sister knew the risks,” he started, and Alec felt anger rising through him again, making his blood boil. “She’s smart, she’s a pathologist, and I’m sure she did at least one training session in the Sanatorium. But she wanted to heal fast. The yin fen allowed her to do that. I was doing her a favor.” 

Fuck that victim-blaming asshole and his false innocence. 

“Are you kidding me?” Alec hissed. 

He wanted to punch him, but there was no time. And he needed him, his clearance and his knowledge of the secrets of the Institute. Then, he would punch him. And take him in front of the Inquisitor. 

“Look, you might've helped me back there, but don't pretend you're one of the good guys,” Alec snapped.

He shook his head and shoved past Aldertree, leaving him to either follow him or walk away. He kept his relief secret when he heard the man follow after him, quiet.

\-----------

Clary’s feet hit the ground. She was on the grass lawn in front of the Institute. It was the closest Magnus could portal them without the wards going off. She shivered. It was cold. It was late August after all, soon to be September, and New York was getting ready for fall. That meant the reddening of leaves on trees, but also the cold of nights. 

“Well, here we are.”

The Institute stood not far from them, behind the plot of neatly arranged tombs. Clary had never asked who the dead were. Shadowhunters or mundanes? Maybe neither, maybe they were just decoys. After all, the Institute looked like a church, glamoured or not. Churches had graveyards. So did this one. 

She turned to Magnus. He was watching the Institute. Suddenly, Clary remembered that Alec was probably in there, in an Institute overrun by Circle members… Fighting for his life. 

The only way Clary was managing to function without being paralyzed by fear and anxiety for Izzy’s fate, was by doing something, and focusing on the Sword, and on Simon. Magnus didn’t have anything to focus on right now. If he thought about the Sword, then it was his and his people’s death that he was facing. 

“Magnus…” She started. She struggled to find words. What did you say to reassure the High Warlock of Brooklyn, hundreds of years old, that had seen wars rise and empires fall? She was just an 18-year-old Shadowhunter that barely knew all of her runes. How could she help? “I’m not going anywhere near that sword.”

It felt too little, but it was all she could promise. She shoved her finger against the tip of her stele. It was sharp, and it dug into her flesh, pain shooting up her arm. If she used it hard enough, it would be enough to kill her, she hoped. Else, she’d have to find a seraph blade on the way to do the job.

“I don't care what happens to me, Clary,” Magnus whispered. He was so quiet that she barely heard him, but the words hit her like a truck. They rang genuine. 

Clary nodded. “Let’s do this.” She turned around.

The air in front of her moved, and suddenly, Raphael was standing in front of her. 

Magnus grunted, and she turned around to see that two vampires were holding his hands, crushing his fingers together. 

“Let go of my hands!” Magnus demanded, trying to shake off the vampires that held him, to no avail.

“So you can use your magic against us?” Raphael asked. Magnus’ face twisted in betrayal and pain. “I'm sorry, Magnus. None of us wanted it to come to this.”

The vampires held Magnus’ arms back now, keeping him from moving more than he needed to. For some reason, Clary trusted that they would break his bones if he tried more. Magnus seemed to come to the same conclusion, and stopped struggling as much.

Clary faced down the leader. Raphael looked serious, more serious than she’d ever seen him, and incredibly sad. 

“I'm here to save Simon,” Clary stated. “I'm not going to touch the Sword.” 

Raphael took a step closer, his hand grabbing her arm. “No, you're not.” 

He looked down at her with dark eyes, and he was so close that she could see sharp long canines extending in his mouth. He was ready to pounce. And she was the prey. Raphael wanted to kill her. 

Clary’s stomach lurched. She didn’t want to die. She had been preparing herself to kill herself before Valentine could get to the Sword but she hadn’t thought she would die like this, drained by a vampire before she could even get to Simon. 

Magnus was screaming something behind her. Clary wasn’t listening. She couldn’t stop staring at the fangs. She remembered the very first time she’d been this close to vampire fangs, the day where Jace had taken her to Hardtail to teach her about encantos. She’d been so incredibly mad at him. She still was a little. She hadn’t been afraid of the fangs then, the vampire’s power coating her perception, keeping her from feeling anything negative.

She almost wished she didn’t have the Protected rune permanently activated. It would have made all of this so much easier… She could just melt into the incanto and forget the imminent death.

Raphael looked back down at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Quick and painless, I promise.”

His mouth opened. Clary couldn’t help the small scream of fear and surprise that escaped her mouth as he bit her. 

She felt his fangs in her flesh, deep and sharp. Her vision went unfocused for a moment, Raphael’s dark hair, the night and the Institute’s tall shadow blurring into one. He didn’t tear at her, didn’t rip her apart. It was almost gentle in a way. Until he was suddenly torn off of her. Clary blinked. 

The familiar noise of seraph blades activating resounded in her ears. Jace was standing there, his sword to Raphael's throat. Raphael’s mouth was red with blood,  _ her blood _ , and his hands were raised, surrendering. 

Clary felt the blood on her neck. It took her a few seconds to reach down and grab her stele. She glided it over her iratze, on the non-wounded side of her neck. The blood stayed on her skin, the bite mark closed up, and the fog in her mind dissipated. Vampire venom, she gathered. It made it all so pleasant.

A wolf growled. Luke was standing behind Magnus, grabbing the two vampires. They loosened their grips on Magnus and the warlock was able to free himself. The tides had shifted once again.

Jace was still holding his sword to Raphael’s throat. “You have no reason to be doing this.” 

Raphael rolled his eyes at him. “And why is that, Shadowhunter?” 

“Clary may be able to activate the sword, but I can destroy it. The angel Ithuriel confirmed that in a vision,” Jace explained. He sounded so incredibly certain, in that moment. 

Raphael hissed. “Angel? Impossible.”

“I’ve seen the vision he speaks of,” Magnus said, looking at the vampire with a great sadness in his dark eyes. “It is angelic. He’s telling the truth.”

“You kill Clary,” Luke started. “Valentine still has the damn sword. Over time, no doubt, he'll find a way to activate it.” 

Jace nodded. “Now is our chance to destroy that sword for good.”

Raphael looked at him from over the sword still pointed at his neck. “Why would a Naphil risk his life for us?”

Jace swallowed. “Because it’s either I die destroying this Sword, or Clary dies, saving Simon beforehand. And I can’t have that.”

Clary’s mouth fell open. She wanted to rage against Jace’s words but she couldn’t. She knew how he was seeing this situation, she knew that, for him, the trade off wasn’t much of a sacrifice. She didn’t want him to die. 

“Trust the love I have for my sister, Santiago.” 

_ Love _ . It was the first time Jace was using that word towards her. Clary felt tears rising from her throat. She didn’t want to lose him, she didn’t want to lose her brother, not when she’d just found him, not when he was the only family she had left.

She wanted to grab Jace. She wanted to grab him right now, force him away from this. She wanted to keep him from the Institute, keep him from Valentine and the Sword and the danger of it all. She wanted to run, run far away from everything that could hurt him, find a hole somewhere, bury themselves and never come out, stay hidden and safe and  _ together _ . But she couldn’t. They had duties. And they had family and friends, stuck in the Institute. Simon, Alec, Izzy… 

Izzy. The wave of fear came crashing again and Clary felt herself stumble under the weight of it.

Raphael’s serious mask cracked for a moment. He broke the silence then, with three simple words.

“I believe you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 29 By The Light of Dawn Part II  
>    
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


	29. By the Light of Dawn Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> TW for everything like in the show with added blood.
> 
> Have fun!

The access hatch was bolted into the wall of the Institute, stark dark metal into the once pale grey stone of the church. The church was dark with pollution, almost sticky with it, making the metal and the stone into one material.

Alec held his stele up to the hatch, and started drawing an opening rune. It shone golden on the dirty black metal. Alec took a step to the side, waiting for the opening rune to work. The door of the hatch exploded behind him, and he whipped back around immediately, ready to turn off the core.

There was another door there. The first one was destroyed, but this one didn’t have a scratch on it. He sighed, and raised his stele again. Aldertree’s hand landed on his arm, holding him back. 

“It’s impervious to opening runes,” Aldertree explained. “If you try to blow through the screen behind this door, it’ll blow your arm off. We don’t want that. The only way to open it and get to the switches is the key,” he pointed out. 

Alec raised an eyebrow. “So what're you waiting for?” 

Aldertree had a small chuckle. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t expecting to have to open this access point today. The key is in my office. Where Valentine is.” 

Fuck. Alec could feel anger and panic threatening his composure. He held up his stele again, twisting his arm into his back and activating his calm anger rune. The feelings melted away, and he felt his entire body straighten. 

He was going to ask if they were going to fight their way into the Head of Institute’s office, when Aldertree held his stele to the door. It gently clicked open, revealing a control screen underneath, the same kind as the ones that were in the war room. Alec frowned.

“I'll have to override the control mechanism,” Aldertree explained, and started typing onto the screen, fingers fast and deft.

Alec rolled his eyes. The Institute’s system was like the ones of all Clave property. They were basically unable to hack. Alec only knew one person that could hack the Clave system, and it was Max. And Max was the smartest person Alec knew of, especially when it came to tech and code. “That's impossible.”

Aldertree looked at him, a fine smirk on his lips. “Not when you have my security clearance, and know the backdoor algorithms. Oh, and the skills, of course.” 

Alec had underestimated that part of Aldertree for sure. He wasn’t the most skilled of fighters, or the best of leaders, but he seemed smart. Field medic turned diplomat. And coding expert, it seemed. Alec made a mental note of that. 

Aldertree started working, the blue light of the screen lighting his face in a cold, sick light, making him look pale and grey like the dead. 

Alec leaned against the wall, his bow ready in case Circle members came onto the balcony they were on.

He didn’t like Aldertree, but he wouldn’t be much better than him if he let people kill him. And besides, it was intelligent for him to protect them. Only because he stood right next to Aldertree. 

The man’s offended look when Alec had questioned the reason why he was helping him came back to Alec’s mind, and he looked over to the dark-skinned man. 

“I think you wouldn't mind if the Downworld was destroyed,” Alec pointed out. His voice didn’t show how much he was enjoying taunting the man. “Certainly would make your job easier…” 

Aldertree sighed, frustrated. “My relationship to the Downworld is more complicated than you think.” 

Alec raised an eyebrow. “How's that?” He was interested in getting to know exactly how… complicated it was. Was the man struggling with seeing the Downworlders as people, and therefore had some issues with the things he did to them? Magnus had told him about Raphael’s mutilated face after a meeting with Aldertree.

Aldertree closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in. “Years ago, when I was still making my way up through the ranks of the Clave, I fell in love with a woman,” he started explaining. Alec sighed heavily. Was this going to be another case like Lydia’s? Was Aldertree’s girlfriend also dead seemingly because of Downworlders? “Beautiful and intelligent.... Sexy,” Aldertree seemed to be reminiscing, and Alec wasn’t appreciating it. “And a lycanthrope.” 

That made Alec stop. 

“You fell in love with a Downworlder?” He asked, unable to keep his disbelief from showing. 

Aldertree had a small chuckle. “Seems odd, doesn't it? But Eva was  _ special _ ,” he said, with a sort of fervor. 

Love, Alec thought. He guessed that was how he talked about Magnus… That sure was how Izzy talked about Clary. 

“After a year together,” Aldertree continued, his eyes a little lost in the memories. “I was called to Alicante for a summit. When I returned,” he swallowed hard, and Alec already knew that this was where the story was going to take a turn. He didn’t know exactly how, but he knew a twist was on the way. 

Aldertree looked down. “I went to see her and found the aftermath of a massacre.” His voice was white with strain. “A Shax demon. I discovered Eva hiding in the basement. She was in shock, driven mad by grief.” Alec could feel it coming. “She couldn't control herself,” he said, and with that, he started unbuttoning his vest. “So she transformed. And attacked me.”

He pulled back the collar of his vest and shirt, showing claw marks sharp and defined on his collarbone. 

“She would have killed me if I hadn't used my seraph blade. Eva died in my arms.” Aldertree’s tone was final, his words firm. This was the end of the story, and he would give no more details.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “You killed her?” 

He tried to imagine Magnus losing control, but he couldn’t. Magnus was a tightly-wound mass of control over his emotions, over his magic, over his appearance and every little aspect of himself. 

“I had no choice,” Aldertree sighed. “Eva couldn't control herself. That was her nature. Her  _ wolf _ nature.”

It was obviously hard for Aldertree to think back about those moments, but Alec struggled to find pity inside of him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like… to be faced with the person you loved, and have to kill them. 

“That's when I realized a Shadowhunter could never be with a Downworlder,” Aldertree said finally, looking at Alec pointedly. “No matter how strong our feelings might be.”

Alec wasn’t blind to the fact that people could be abusive and violent. He’d known enough of people like that, or people victim to their loved ones. Magnus hadn’t told him everything about most parts of his life but what he’d told him about Camille was enough for Alec to recognize signs. Even his own relationship to his mother was akin to these. 

He couldn’t say that no Downworlder would ever be violent. What he’d learned lately only showed him one thing, that Downworlders, just like Shadowhunters, were part human. At least vampires, warlocks and werewolves were. They were people, for sure. And people could be violent.

That did not doom every Downworlder, just like one murderer didn’t doom the entirety of the mundane kind, just like Valentine didn’t make every single Shadowhunter a genocidal maniac.

He could see Aldertree’s reasoning, born of the pain and grief of having to kill his girlfriend but… Alec couldn’t excuse the conclusion. Especially in such a one-sided telling. Not that anyone would ever be able to know the other side of the story…

Alec fell silent, as Aldertree kept working on the access. 

\----------------

Jace walked into the Institute. In the reflection of the glass windows on the sides, he could see himself, except it wasn’t himself. It was Clary. He struggled not to reach up to see if his face, his hair, felt different. He couldn’t feel the weight of her mass of red hair around his face and upon his shoulders, and he, intellectually, knew that his face wouldn’t be that slightly-rounder shape that Clary’s was. There would be his blonde stubble under his fingers, rough, that the image of him didn’t have. 

Jace walked forward. The second set of doors of the Institute slid open. Immediately, hands were on him, two Circle members grabbing him and immediately checking for weapons, patting him down. Thankfully, the glamour made them believe he had breasts and no dick, and they didn’t find any weapon on him. 

“Tell Valentine I'm here.” Clary’s voice came out of his mouth and it sounded a little wrong, but he forced himself not to look too distraught. 

Boots hit the floor of the Institute, heavy and dark against the decorated cement squares. Valentine came out of the nearby corridor, his hands held behind his back. Jace summoned the best of what he’d seen of Clary’s interactions with Valentine. Her tone, her phrasing, everything that would make Valentine believe that he was her. 

Valentine knew Jace too well. He needed to be incredibly careful. 

“Hello, my dear,” Valentine said calmly.

“Where's Simon?” Jace asked, and struggled against the two Circle members. He had to force himself to muzzle his power, let himself be caught. Perfect. “Before I do anything, I need to know he's alive.”

Valentine smirked, just a little, and Jace’s heart stopped. “But I'm afraid you may have waited too long.”

Fuck.

This time, it was less Clary and more Jace that spoke, panicked. “Where is he?”

\------------------

Luke sat crouched behind one of the bushes outside of the Institute, just outside of the wards. Jace had gone in a few minutes ago, around 15, and he was now waiting for the signal that the Soul Sword was destroyed. 

He knew what it would mean, that Jace was dead. But he tried not to think about it. About what it would do to Clary. 

He’d seen the way Clary looked at Jace, and he’d seen it coming. The protectiveness, the love between each other, growing stronger with every battle they faced. It was the same kind of love that Izzy and Alec seemed to share. The same he’d felt towards Valentine, when he still called him  _ brother  _ and  _ parabatai _ . 

Losing Jace would hurt Clary. And he wasn’t looking forward to her pain, not when he was still so unbalanced from losing Jocelyn. 

The night was thick around him, and he frowned. It had been much clearer earlier, much more like New York’s usual lit-up night. The Institute was in Manhattan, and Manhattan was always lit up by neon lights of ads and nightlife. 

The night around him got even thicker, suddenly, and when he breathed, his air formed cold little clouds. It was colder now, more like fall and less like summer. Luke stood up. 

Unsurprisingly, his eyes fell on Meliorn. 

Seelie magic. The night was thicker and colder, more natural according to them. Seelies were always more in tune with how things would be without mundane influence. It was partly their power, and partly the impact they wanted to have, Luke guessed. 

Meliorn’s eyes were calm. They rarely ever showed intense emotion. Luke had known the Seelie for decades, saw him almost every time he had to deal with the Seelie Court, and Meliorn had always been unchanged by time. The scar in his cheek was new, and the sight of it was incredibly unsettling. 

“Meliorn,” Luke said, his voice quiet still. He didn’t know how much the Circle members could hear from inside the Institute. “I'm glad you're fighting beside us.” 

Meliorn’s face barely moved. “It is my honor,” he said. Luke was briefly surprised by the compliment. “Though if you are mistaken,” Meliorn continued. “Which I fear you might be, I will never forgive you.” 

That was the attitude he’d been expecting. From what Luke understood, Meliorn had pleaded to the Queen for a squadron of Seelie knights, and it had taken a great toll. Now that he was closer, he could see a light sheen of sweat over the Seelie’s bronze skin, and a quiver to his lips. His eyes, though calm, were dark, incredibly dark. He was in pain. 

Luke didn’t ask about it. He and Meliorn weren’t friends, far from it. Business acquaintances, at most, maybe just reluctant, part-time allies. The Seelie wouldn’t appreciate Luke’s concern about his state. He wouldn't appreciate knowing that Luke had noticed it.

“Appreciate the confidence,” Luke replied. Meliorn nodded, and walked off, the Seelies behind him following in one harmonious mass. The noise they made while walking, even with their staffs and shields and armors, was minimal. Walking that way, they looked like wind moving through leaves and trees. 

Alaric stood by Luke’s side when Luke stopped watching the Seelies. Luke sighed a little. 

“Thanks for bringing the pack,” Luke said softly, clapping his friend’s shoulder. “We're gonna need all the help we can get.” 

Alaric nodded, but he was serious, and dark. “I'm not gonna lie,” Alaric said. “It took some convincing. Some of them aren't too keen on this idea. Neither am I, to be honest.”

Luke sighed deeply, frustration and a headache starting to bloom in his temples. Fuck. This wasn’t the time. 

“Then why are you here?” He asked, maybe a bit harsher than he’d expected to be.

Alaric looked right into his eyes. “Because I trust you.” And with that, he left as well. 

Luke stood there, watching the pack and the Seelie Knights, standing together. Vampires were joining as well, and he’d seen a couple of warlocks, though there were very few. Most of the old kinds had preferred hiding. Luke guessed he understood them.

Maia was nowhere to be seen, and he knew she’d been taken to the Institute by Isabelle Lightwood, earlier. He could only hope she was okay. 

Between that, Meliorn’s and Alaric’s words, he could feel the heavy pressure on his shoulders, weighing him down. Anxiety, crushing his chest. 

\---------------

Jace was led into the corridor, towards the Head of Institute’s office. Valentine walked ahead of him, and a Circle member, just as bald as Valentine, and with very similar clothing, following him. He could see that they were trying to emulate their leader.

Valentine opened the door and stepped through it, Jace following suit. 

Simon was sitting on the couch of the office, where Jace had sat so many times when Alec was acting Head and pretending it was actually his office. His eyes were closed, blood was seeping from the gaping wound at his neck like sap from a tree trunk, at a crawling pace. He looked like he was almost dead. Not that he’d been very alive before. 

“Simon,” Jace called out, and Clary’s voice didn’t sound the way it usually sounded when Simon was in danger. Valentine or the two Circle members in the room didn’t know that, however. “Hold on, okay?”

There was only one way to keep him alive now, and Jace had been prepared for it. His eyes zeroed on the sharp paper cutter on the edge of the desk. He knew it was sharp enough to cut through skin. Despite Maryse’s warnings, there had been quite a few incidents involving Alec, Izzy, him and that paper cutter. He grabbed it, and crossed the distance to the couch.

“Stay with me, Simon.” He sat to Simon’s right, drew the blade, and slid it over the skin of his forearm. Clary’s pale skin was easy to cut through. He cut a thin, three-inches long wound above her shape-shifting rune. Blood rose to the surface, dark red.

Jace knew there was demon blood in it. He kept himself from staring at the blood for black ichor-like particles. What would it taste like to Simon? 

He lifted his arm, and pressed it to Simon’s mouth. The vampire groaned, eyes struggling to open. When he saw Jace, or rather Clary, he looked away, tried to move away from the arm pressing against his lips. His mouth was cold where it was in contact with Jace’s skin. 

“Simon, please,” he whispered. 

He refused, moving away slightly. Jace smeared some of the blood onto Simon’s lips, staining them red. He kept gently calling Simon’s name, gently pushing for him to bite. 

He couldn’t have Simon die. Not when it was the one thing he’d promised Clary he would do before he got to his death, before he got to the Sword. Clary was probably fighting her way into the Institute now, but he needed to save Simon. 

Finally, Simon’s mouth opened. Jace saw white fangs sliding out of his gums, gleaming for less than a second in the room, before they sunk into his flesh. 

The pain was sharp. He could feel two points through which the fangs had dug into his arm, clean and specific. Simon moved a little, tearing just a hint for more access to blood, instinct making him be just a bit more ravenous. 

Jace gasped when he felt the venom. It blurred the pain, made it slowly and slowly become less intense, less focused, until Jace felt numb where Simon was draining him. And then… and then he felt good. 

Venom burned through his veins, and he knew it should have been painful, but it was ecstasy that made him shudder and shake. He pressed his arm harder against Simon’s mouth, unable to stop himself.

The pleasure was overwhelming. Under the glamour, Jace was hard in his pants, and he would have wondered if he was going to come into his pants, if he’d had the capacity to think. His face was wet. Tears. 

He didn’t hear Valentine’s words, just a general noise of voices behind him. Simon grabbed his arm, pulling closer, and Jace let him. He couldn’t even hold his head up. Everything was too good. 

He barely noticed people moving until he was yanked away from Simon. The feeling of being drained, as well as the steady stream of vampire venom disappeared. Jace looked up. 

Simon’s eyes were wide as they stared at him. He looked down. His pants were back, and he could see the tenting in his groin area. Fuck. He was unglamoured. 

He looked around, vision unfocused. Valentine stood there, staring at him. Jace couldn’t identify the expression on his father’s face.

\---------------

Magnus and Clary stalked into the corridors of the Institute. Clary was half-bent down in a sort of stealthy position that Magnus would have found adorable, was he not worried out of his mind. 

“On the video call, Simon was in Aldertree's office,” she indicated. “This way.”

The corridors were empty but Magnus didn’t trust that they actually were. It was too quiet. They were probably still patrolling through, even if the decoy of Clary was in place. They had to know that there were still people alive there, people whose allegiance was not to the Circle. People like Alec. 

Alec. Magnus didn’t know where he was, or if he was still alive. The thought of losing Alec was more frightening than he thought it would be. If he thought about it for too long, fear crushed his heart in an icy grip, and he was always afraid that it wouldn’t start beating again when he shook the idea away. 

He wasn’t expecting that Alec… would be so dear to him, and yet… Thinking about losing him sent him into a spiral of fear and pain. Grief, even if Alec wasn’t dead yet. Or so he hoped. 

“Careful, Clary. Circle members could be anywhere,” he knew she knew but he needed to say something, to stop himself from noticing the fear. 

They turned around the corner of the corridor and Magnus and Clary caught sight of a little girl. She had dark skin, two braids and a pretty smart little outfit. She looked at them, dark-eyed and brightly intelligent. She couldn’t be older than six. 

“It's Madzie,” Clary informed. 

So that was the ever-elusive Madzie. She looked adorable but Magnus knew better than to underestimate warlock children. He’d been quite dangerous as a child, and he’d killed his first person when he was only a couple of years older than the girl.

“Go get her,” Clary said softly. “I'll find Simon.”

Magnus frowned a little. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “She’s just a kid… and she’s being used. And she’s a warlock.” 

Right. Warlocks were Magnus’ department, and this one might just be one of his youngest charges. He took a deep breath. Duty came over him and he knew, suddenly, that whether Alec was dead or not, he had something to do. He nodded at Clary. 

“I'll meet you in Aldertree's office,” he whispered. They parted ways. 

Magnus started walking quietly towards where the girl had been, and gone. 

He found her standing in front of a body. The man was obviously dead, and she was staring at him, quiet. His heart stopped. She’d been made to kill so many people, and that would forever be her burden. Because of Valentine, she was now a murderer. 

Magnus remembered Asmodeus and how sweet he’d seemed. He remembered how he’d convinced Magnus to kill, maim, injure, torture the guilty and the innocent alike. He remembered his trust being abused. He’d vowed never to let a child like him find their way into a world of pain and abuse. 

“Hello, sweet pea,” Magnus said softly. Madzie whipped around to face him, her braids flying around her head. 

She watched him with eyes that he found too serious for a six-year-old. 

“I'm Magnus,” he introduced himself, walking closer towards her.

She reached up to her throat and took off her scarf. Behind the polka-dotted blue fabric, were gills. And they started sucking the air out of the room, fast and merciless. That was how she’d killed all of these people. 

Her eyes were wide and he suddenly realized she was terrified. He discreetly made himself able to stay alive without air for a moment, and took a step closer to the little girl.

“I know you're scared,” Magnus said softly. “You don't have to be.” He kneeled, so he would be on the same level as her. And he let his glamour drop. 

He rarely ever let his glamour down. He’d been through too many years trying to live with his natural eyes to want to deal with the way people reacted to them. But this was a little warlock girl, whose mark was gills, and who was so afraid around all of these people who were not warlocks.

“See? I'm just like you, Madzie. I'm a warlock, too.”

Madzie had been raised by Iris Rouse, around demons and warlocks and pregnant mundanes without memories, and she probably had very little idea of who the dark-clothed people with swords were. 

The girl looked at his eyes, and suddenly, the air stopped drifting from the room and she relaxed. The body of the man was still laying on the floor behind her, and Magnus’ heart broke a little.

“These men are using you for your abilities,” he whispered.

The girl pouted. “He said Nana was here.”

Magnus knew this was going to hurt. “He lied.”

Madzie’s eyes widened slightly. 

“ I wanna help you, Madzie. For real.”

And he waited. It took a few moments for her to join him, but she did. And Magnus sighed in relief.

Once, a man with golden cat eyes had found him, young and afraid, had taken his hand and offered safety and trust to him. Asmodeus had not kept his promises, but Magnus intended to keep his.

\--------------

Valentine stalked around the room, his eyes shifting from Jace to literally anything else in the room. After the initial bound of emotion that had come from the surprise of seeing Jace, he hadn’t shown anything that Jace could see while keeping a safe distance. 

Valentine’s mouth was curled in a sort of smirk, as he paced around. Jace stood up. Thankfully, his hard-on had waned down fast after the venom had stopped being pumped into his system. 

“Shape-shifting, huh?” Valentine finally said, his back turned to Jace now. “Well, that's original.”

Simon was laying on the couch, looking like he was coming back to a normal sort of state, and Jace was grateful. The tension in the room was thick, the kind that made Jace believe that a fight was about to break out. He and Simon against Valentine, and two Circle members. 

“I learned from the best.”

Valentine turned around, his lip curled in a disgusted smirk. “No, you didn't,” he snapped. “I would never willingly let a  _ vampire _ taste my blood.” he sounded utterly disgusted. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”

Jace rolled his eyes. “I saved a life.”

Valentine looked at him. “A monster's life. And for what? He's just gonna die with the rest of the Downworld, anyway.” He was so casual about it. Jace could feel his blood boiling at that. 

Simon blinked. Jace only had a second to see that Simon was moving. The vampire launched himself across the room, using his body weight to shove Valentine to the ground. Valentine’s sword clattered to the floor. 

Jace immediately grabbed the seraph sword and whipped around. He countered a strike from one of the two guards, dodging him and twirling on himself. He countered one from the other guard and struck the man’s leg, sending him to the floor.

The first guard tried to attack again, but Jace was too fast. Their swords hit hard, and Jace pushed at it, shoving his body closer to the man’s. His face was overwhelmed by anger and violence. 

Valentine and Simon were wrestling on the ground, Simon quite obviously losing. 

Jace shoved the guard’s arm away, forcing him to stop parrying his strike. With one fast strike, Jace pierced cleanly into the man’s chest, killing him instantly. 

Valentine shoved Simon up then. As Jace dealt with the last of the guards, Valentine managed to get out of the room, running off towards where most of his Circle members were probably stationed. 

Simon struggled to his feet. He looked like he’d hit his head against the ground several times, groggy and unfocused. 

“That wasn’t bad,” Jace called out, grabbing a small sickle-like weapon from where it was displayed on the wall, in a frame. It wasn’t angelic, so he wasn’t worried about anything when he handed it to Simon.

“Thanks, I've been practicing,” Simon chuckled. The tension of the fight melted from their shoulders as they walked towards the war room. They needed to go do what Jace had come to do in the first place: destroy the Soul Sword.

\-----------------

Clary walked through the corridors, leading to the walkways that went through both sides of the war room. 

It was so quiet that she thought she could hear her own heart beating in her chest. She hoped the Circle members that were probably patrolling around couldn’t hear it. 

There was blood on the floor, she noticed, dark splatters of red that drew a path onto the colored cement tiles. She tried not to think about whose blood it could be.  _ Izzy’s, Simon’s, Jace’s, Alec’s,  _ her mind immediately provided, and she cursed herself.

She stopped at a corner between two corridors and the edge of one of the walkways, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t hear or see anyone, and Jace was still taking her place and was being led to the Soul Sword to ‘activate’ it. They weren’t expecting anyone to be sneaking around, right? 

She started walking again, her seraph blade in her right hand. 

It took only a couple of steps for her to see a Circle member, running towards her, his own seraph blade held by two hands. 

She reached up, using her left hand to stop the man’s arm. With her right arm, she sent her blade towards the man’s exposed left side. She cut through his stomach three times, then, in a zigzagging motion, then stabbed into his stomach with a brutal and lethal motion. 

She pulled her blade back, letting the man’s body crumble to the floor. This time, she heard footsteps before she saw more Circle members coming. 

Behind her, a man suddenly rushed in. Within a couple of motions, she had him impaled on her sword. These weren’t as highly trained as the Shadowhunters of the Institute were. They had only trained under Valentine for a few months, compared to most of the others’ years and decades of training. 

She was too busy being proud of how easily she’d killed the two Circle members that she didn’t realize more were coming behind her.

Her seraph blade was yanked out of her grip and arms seized her. 

“Hey, let go!” Clary screamed, the blade clattering to the floor with a metallic, almost ridiculously high noise. 

She struggled, trying to fight back, but the two Circle members held strong, keeping her arms from being able to hit anything. Despite herself, and even as she struggled and kicked out blindly at their legs, trying to hit them and make them loosen their grip on her, she was dragged away, probably towards where Valentine and Jace were. 

“Let go!” Clary screamed, but to no avail.

\------------------

The screen underneath Aldertree’s fingers flashed red regularly, the words ACCESS DENIED written across the command center. Whatever algorithm he’d used wasn’t actually working. Alec would have been happy about that, if it hadn’t doomed so many people he loved, one in particular.

Aldertree took a step back, running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily. 

“It's not working,” he said softly, before looking up at Alec. “The bypass must not apply to exterior access points.” 

Alec sighed. They were fucked, and so was everyone else. His brain was working to find a solution, and the only one he could find was that they should go down to the angelic power core room, fight their way through the Circle army, and try to directly shut it down. 

He opened his mouth to say just that when the door to the balcony opened. Four Circle members, three men and a woman, with the angry red circle on their necks, walked towards them. 

They were calm, quiet, and Alec wondered if he was seeing things or if they were actually  _ smirking.  _ Alec and Aldertree grabbed their seraph swords and activated them. 

“Four against two,” Aldertree hummed. He didn’t seem that worried.

Alec wasn’t either. Out of those four, it was incredibly likely that most were newly-made Shadowhunters, having just Ascended and having just begun training. Alec was the leader of the first team of the Institute, had trained for decades and Aldertree, though a diplomat, had good skills. 

“Could be worse,” Alec shrugged, before he launched himself into battle. 

\------------------

Jace trusted that Simon followed him, as they walked through the corridors. Jace didn’t really know where the Soul Sword would be but he’d heard something about the war room, and it would make sense for it to happen there. 

It was easy to use the angelic power core energy from there, as the cables that carried the power ran just underneath the floor, easily accessible with a couple of runes. 

The lights flickered as they walked, and Jace heard Simon mutter something about horror movies, but he didn’t really pay attention to it. Now that Valentine knew that Clary was still out there, she was more than likely to get caught.

Jace couldn’t have that. If Clary was captured, she would try to kill herself. And if she couldn’t do that, all of the Downworld would die. He didn’t know which was worse in his mind, right now. He just knew he had to stop it. Despair to stop Valentine pulled at his heart, and he was barely listening at what Simon was saying behind him.

“- you know, what happened back there…” Simon mumbled, anxiety probably overwhelming him as well. “I've heard of blood thirst,” he continued. “Even... felt it, but... never that badly. Once I started feeding, I couldn't stop. I'm really sorry.” 

He actually truly seemed sorry but Jace didn’t know what to reply. He was too caught in between the extreme stress of the situation, the possible death of Clary, the possible destruction of the Downworld, which included Simon, Clary’s best friend, Magnus, Alec’s boyfriend, and so many people that he didn’t know and couldn’t name… All rested on his shoulders, on the fact that Valentine had experimented on him in the womb and made him a half-demon abomination.

He sighed. “Don't apologize.” That worked, right? That was probably what Simon was expecting him to say, and it seemed like he was listening and wasn’t losing his mind over everything happening right now. It was uncharacteristic of him to be on the edge of panic, but this wasn’t  _ exactly _ a typical situation.

“I would have killed you,” Simon pointed out.

They turned the corner from the corridor to the end of one of the pathways on the side of the ops room. Jace briefly noticed bloody footprints over the floor, but pushed the thought away.

“I would have let you,” Jace whispered, but Simon wasn’t listening, thankfully. Or at least he didn’t reply to it, or react specifically, which Jace was thankful about. He didn’t want to talk about the disgust and guilt clawing at the inside of his chest like a desperate and hungry little animal.

It wasn’t only the venom’s ecstasy that would have pushed Jace to let Simon drain him until he died. And that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, especially not right now.

He looked over at the war room. It was deserted, mostly. 

Tables and prep stations had been pushed away from the center of the room, and a pedestal had been installed in their place. Large cables snaked away from the pedestal and towards open tiles in the floor, where they’d been attached to the energy circuit of the Institute. 

Most lights in the room were down, and the few fluorescent lights that were still on were flickering as the pedestal drained away the angelic power to activate the Soul Sword. The Sword itself was held horizontally onto the pedestal, balanced there in a weirdly similar position to how it was usually displayed in the City of Bones, and lightning-like flashes of energy regularly bit its blade. 

It was only guarded by two men. 

That was strange. How many Circle members were actually there? Jace hadn’t seen that many of them, and he had been expecting them to be gathered around the Sword. But they weren’t. He frowned. This felt wrong.

“Looks like they have the sword tapped into that power thing,” Simon described, and Jace nodded. 

“Not for long,” he whispered. They needed to move in, Simon used as a distraction so he could get to the Sword, grab it and destroy it.

It was strange to think that he was about to die. So he resolved not to think about it. 

He took a deep breath and looked at Simon. “Hey. You know how to use that?” He asked, pointing at the sickle-like dagger he held. 

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “Just point and stab, right?” He said, and pointed towards Jace’s chest. It was obvious that he wasn’t used to using actual weapons. This was probably incredibly sharp, even if it had only been used as a display. 

“Use your vamp speed,” Jace replied, trying to not roll his eyes. This was the last conversation he was going to have before he died. He tried not to think about that. 

He wouldn’t see Alec, or Izzy again. He wouldn’t hug Max, and tell him it was okay, that he didn’t mean what he had said at the party and that he loved him anyway. He wouldn’t be able to see Maryse, and tell her than he loved her, because he did love her. He loved her like a mother. She was the only mother he’d ever had. 

He’d never told all these people how much he loved them. Love was a word you didn’t say, it was a word that meant too much, a word that carried so much feeling and possible grief when you died and your loved ones were left behind.

Love made duty and combat complicated. Love made dying on the battlefield complicated. Love made Angels fall, and Nephilim die.

Love destroyed. 

And Jace had never wanted to hurt any of the people he loved. 

He looked down and texted Luke with information that he was ready and that they were standing in front of the Soul Sword. He couldn’t allow himself to be this emotional. “As soon as we get backup, we move in.” 

Footsteps resounded, as well as groans and grunts, from a high-pitched familiar voice. 

“It might be too late for that,” Simon whispered. He sounded… wrong.

Jace immediately turned around to see. 

Valentine’s grip was bruising around Clary’s left arm. He was hurting her, but he didn’t care. He didn’t think he did, anyway. His eyes shone with the blue-white light of angelic power, the one that surrounded the Soul Sword, as it was being struck by small bouts of lightning repeatedly. 

Clary tried to dig her heels into the smooth floor and stop Valentine from dragging her in, but it felt useless. They’d bound her right arm behind her back, with a length of thick, strong and rough rope that tied it to her waist, making sure she couldn’t tug it free.

“No! Let me go!” She groaned.

He dragged her through the room, towards the Soul Sword, as if she was nothing but a ragdoll. She felt so light and useless, unable to stop him from getting her to the Sword. 

There was no weapon for her to grab. Her stele was gone, Valentine’s was out of reach, and the only sharp edge she could find to kill herself with was the Soul Sword. And she assumed plunging it into her heart or slitting her throat with it would count as touching it and activate it. 

She continued to try to pull him back and free herself as they neared the pedestal and the two lonely guards watching over it. It was ridiculous. 

“You can't make me do this!” She cried out. 

Valentine wasn’t even looking at her. He dragged her towards the Sword, forced her towards it, towards the horrors it would cause. He forced her to be a weapon of genocide. 

Maybe that had always been her purpose, in his eyes. Maybe he’d made her, experimented on her, so that he could one day use her body and her blood to murder all Downworlders. 

All his talk of wanting to know her, of wishing he’d been able to see her grow up into the woman she was today, all of that might just be lies to entice her to the true purpose of her existence. Genocide. 

“I won't do it!” She hissed.

Valentine turned around, grabbing her shoulder with his free arm, and staring into her eyes. They were a few steps away from the Sword now, and it seemed like he had enough of her screaming. His eyes were dark and agitated, and he looked like he was about to hit her. 

She struggled, trying to get him to stop grabbing her like this. 

“Unfortunately,” Valentine snapped, staring at her. “ _ You _ don't get to decide that.” His tone was akin to one he would use with a petulant child who refused to go to school or take a bath. She grunted, pulling herself away from him as much as possible. “I am doing this for you, and for your brother, and for the rest of humanity,” Valentine continued, and he let go of one of her arms to reach up and caress her cheek. 

With her arm bound behind her back, she wasn’t able to push his hand away, so she just turned her head, as fast as she could and tried to bite him. She felt her teeth graze his flesh and he slapped her, hard, making her head whip the other way. 

“Listen to me!” Valentine growled. He didn’t need to shout, he was already so close. “Clarissa,” he started again. She  _ hated  _ that name. She  _ hated  _ the way it sounded in his mouth when he talked to her like this, with this… bigoted sort of awe. “This planet is under siege by demon-blooded creatures, intent on death and destruction.” He pointed towards the Sword, where it laid horizontally, ready to be grabbed by both him and her in concert. “Once I wield  _ that _ sword, the Downworld will no longer be part of our world. And the lives of my children…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her, and for a second she saw love in those eyes. “Will be that much safer.”

He believed what he was saying. In that moment, she knew that he did. She knew that though he hated the Downworld, he thought he actually had a good reason to hate it. He thought he was right in what he was doing. 

Clary felt cold. So cold, as she looked at him, at the way he was almost smiling at her. 

“I know you want to be safe, Clarissa. I know you want Jonathan to be safe too.”

And it was true. She wanted Jace to be safe, she wanted to be able to take him so far away from this traumatising life that he had. She wanted to be safe too, herself, to go back to who she used to be. To love Izzy and draw and paint and forget about genocide and world-ending catastrophies and the everlasting threat of demons.

But she knew this wasn’t a means to an end. Destroying the Downworld wouldn’t destroy demons. It would just destroy people. The people she loved, and the people she didn’t know, alike. More innocents than guilty. 

“No.” 

The word resounded in the silence between Clary and her father. She looked at him right in the eyes, and refused to be a part of his genocide willingly. If he forced her, he might succeed, but he would know that she hadn’t wanted to be on his side. He would know that she hadn’t cared for his protection. 

And it was obvious he understood exactly what she meant with her little ‘no’. A word that sounded so ridiculous when she was bound like this, dragged like this, already so close to the Sword that she could see her reflection in the blade. To him, it was so important. 

He had no family to protect. Jocelyn was dead and Jace was working against him. And Clary, with one small ridiculous word, had just refused him his victory.

Valentine’s face distorted in an ugly mask of hatred and anger and he pulled her to him, hard. She was unable to pull herself away from him now that he had her and he turned her around, her back against his chest, and shoved her to the Sword. 

One of the two guards positioned themselves on the other side of the pedestal, holding out a single kindjal, with a motif of stars on the pommel. 

Her own screams and struggles were unfocused as she stared at that kindjal, at the sword underneath her. The Circle member grabbed her arm, shoved back her sleeve. Valentine now held the kindjal. 

He stood behind her, flush against her, she could feel his breath against her hair. His hand was steady, his arm parallel to hers as he held the blade against her arm. Her blood. Her body. His victory.

She struggled, but fighting against him when she was so close to the Sword was impossible. One reaction, one moment of unbalance and she would fall and cut herself on it. The hand behind her back could only grab at the fabric of Valentine’s shirt. It was soft. 

“No,” she repeated, when she felt the cold of the blade against her skin. Her palm was open. She could see the discoloration from where the Angel had held her hand. How ironic. 

“This is for you, Clarissa, my daughter,” Valentine whispered in her ear. She choked back a sob. Fear, sadness or disgust… She didn’t know.

Valentine breathed out. Clary breathed in. 

A hard weight collided with Clary’s right side.

She flew from Valentine’s grip onto the floor. She landed on her side, unable to catch herself. 

\-------------------

Vampires, werewolves, Seelies and warlocks were mixed, waiting outside the Institute crouched on the ground in tight rows of three. Hands and feet rested amongst the fallen leaves that the late August had made fall. 

The Seelies had been the ones to gather the group into rows, to organize the mass of Shadow People ready to fight for their lives and fates. They had a much more working military system than the rest of the kinds, and Luke had appreciated Meliorn’s help in rallying everyone into a working order.

It was impressive to see the people gathered there to fight. 

A long time ago, Luke wouldn’t have thought any of it possible. He would have thought that Downworlders weren’t capable of cohesion, especially not between races, especially not when it came to what was objectively good for them. 

He remembered being young and stupid, and believing in the rhetoric of the Clave. They said that Downworlders had no idea what structured society was like, what hierarchy meant, and despite being told in the same breath about pack Alphas and High Warlocks and the Seelie Queen, he had believed them.

Seeing his people, mixed with other Shadow Kinds now… he just remembered his stupid bigotry and was glad he’d changed. Even with the horrors of the way he’d become a werewolf… he was glad that it had opened his eyes on the humanity of the Shadow World. 

He couldn’t say that he didn’t regret not being a Shadowhunter anymore. There were days where he woke up and couldn’t help but look at himself in the mirror and  _ miss  _ the runes. 

He missed the runes, and, on those days, he missed his parabatai bond.. Those days had made up most of his weeks at the very beginning, and now they were rare, sparse in the years.

He truly, dearly, missed all of these things. 

But he didn’t miss the bigotry. 

His phone buzzed in his hand, Jace signalling that he needed back-up, that he was about to destroy the Sword. 

Luke stood up, and called out “Let’s move!”. 

The rows of people stood up in one motion. Luke was grabbing his gun when a sword slashed into someone that stood behind him. 

A familiar voice groaned in pain and Luke saw Meliorn crumbling to the ground, holding his side. In the darkness of the night, Luke couldn’t see what was going on. But he could see the Circle member coming towards him. 

Someone screamed. Luke turned around and punched the unsuspecting Circle member in the chest. His blade fell from his hand and it was easy after that to punch up into the guy’s jaw. The noise of bone breaking resounded closely and he felt the fracture under his fist. 

He punched the first Circle member until the man fell to the ground and moved on to the next. They were few and disorganized, therefore easy to beat.

When Luke sent a glance back towards where the group had been, he realized that the squad had followed orders and moved into the Institute. Good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in Next Sunday, for.... chapter 30 By The Light of Dawn Part III, the last chapter!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
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	30. By the Light of Dawn Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of those who have been following Shadowhunters 2.0.- Dive since January 2020!
> 
> I'm sorry I waited so long to post this chapter, I kept being too busy or forgetting, and I must admit the lack of feedback made me really sad and didn't make me want to post...
> 
> I will be continuing on this journey however, so I hope you can wait until next year for me to write 2B. 
> 
> One last time, hope you enjoy this.

Clary twisted herself, rolling onto her back and struggling to sit up without the use of her right arm, still tied to her back. 

The two guards now laid dead on the floor and Valentine was there, appearing to be knocked out, on the other side of her. She frowned and looked up. All she remembered before the fall was the impact of a body against her side.

“Clary, you all right?”

Simon rushed to her, a small blade in his hand. It must have been a mundane weapon, because he wasn’t screaming about it hurting him. He pulled her to his feet. He’d been the one to kill the guards, she realized. She felt the blade graze her skin as it cut through the rope. 

Clary flexed her wrist, shaking the itch from the rope burn. She’d tried to free herself so much that it now marked her skin red, and she didn’t have time or a stele to iratze it away. 

“I’m fine,” Clary breathed out. “Let’s go.” She tried not to think about the fact Simon had killed these people. Or the fact he was somehow looking relatively well, for someone that had had his throat cut. 

Simon grabbed her and they started to rush towards the hallway, towards the door to the outside. 

Jace came out of the shadows, then. 

His eyes were reddened, and he didn’t say a word. He walked by them, nodded at Simon, and stared at Clary for a moment, a second of goodbye. 

He was going to go and destroy the Sword. It hit her back like a train then. That Jace had wanted to go in and destroy the Sword, and kill himself in one motion. That he was going to do that now, before Valentine stood back up, before the other Circle members could get in. 

“Jace!” She exclaimed, turning around. Simon didn’t try to pull her away. 

Jace didn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at her. If he did, then he might stop himself from doing the one thing he was made to do. If he looked at her, then he would tell her how much he didn’t want to lose her. He had no choice but not to look at her before he died. 

He clenched his jaw, stopping in front of the Soul Sword. It shone brightly, gold and silver and gleaming metal, the Sword of the Angel, the Sword of Death. It was unfair that such a beautifully crafted weapon could cause such horrors. 

Not so long ago, he’d been standing in front of the Sword in the same fashion. In the City of Bones, for his interrogation. They’d placed the Sword in his hands, and then he’d tried to kill himself with it. Better be dead than living in the City of Bones for the rest of his life. Better be dead than cause the death of thousands of innocents. 

It was such a simple choice. 

He let go of his seraph blade. It clattered on the floor like hail against the windows of the room he’d been raised in, in Idris, by Valentine, making him jump in surprise every March like clockwork.

There was a dagger on the floor, a kindjal more specifically, with stars and wings. With runes of agony and fear carved into the blade. He held out his left hand, clutched the kindjal in his right, against the scar and the discoloration the Angel had given him. 

“Jace!” Clary called out again. Her voice was broken by sobs and he hated hurting her like this. He never wanted to hurt her.

He closed his eyes for a second. He couldn’t die and not see her again. One of his sisters, one of his siblings. If he couldn’t see Alec or Izzy or Max, then he could just see Clary. He turned around.

She was crying. It was a silent kind of crying, not one that shook her entire body. Tears were slowly rolling down her face. One side of it was red from their father slapping her. She shook her head, as if she was trying to tell him not to do it, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He smiled at her. He was okay. It was going to be okay. She would move on and live on. They’d already spent most of their lives without the other, it wouldn’t be so hard for her to go back to normal. 

He turned back to the Sword. It taunted him almost, gleaming there and reflecting his face, his eyes reddened by sadness and a fear he didn’t want to admit to. He didn’t know where he was going after death. He had demon blood. That probably meant he wouldn’t see Michael or Jocelyn in the Afterlife. 

Jace inhaled. He drew the kindjal and slashed down the palm of his left hand. Red blood pooled there, in the small crook of his palm, for a second. He tilted his hand. 

“Jace!” Clary screamed.

Droplets of blood hit shining metal. The Sword started glowing. The runes carved in its blade lit up gold. Jace had never seen something so beautiful. Red and gold and metal, like the Angel’s flag on a battlefield. 

His bloody hand struggled to close on the hilt of the Sword. Angelic power ran through him. It was like being pierced by thousands of needles of pure angelic light. His cells were cracking open, bursting with light and power. 

It didn’t hurt. 

It made him gasp, it made him feel like his mortal body was falling apart and being stitched back together by the hand of the Angel, but it didn’t hurt. It was divine. 

The Sword was alight. The runes glowed in an almost blinding way. Jace brandished the Sword and the light crackled through him, a lightning strike in his very soul. He felt like he was screaming. 

It became too much, suddenly, and the needles started hurting, his fingers losing all of their strength. He let go of the Sword.

The light let go of him. He fell. 

He was alive. He could feel that he was. Unless it was a very weird sort of afterlife where you didn’t lose any sort of bodily sensation and none of your senses. Clary and Simon were talking, and Jace was alive. Something was wrong. 

He couldn’t move much, though. The Sword’s power had run through him and he felt like he’d been tased, muscles contracting without his control. He grunted. 

“Jace, are you okay?” 

He couldn't reply. He was alive. It hadn’t worked.

He watched as Valentine stood again, grabbed the Sword from the floor, Jace’s blood still on both blade and hilt. It looked dirty and wrong now. It was all wrong. Valentine smiled at him, and at Clary.

It was a wide, almost beautiful smile. A victor’s smile. No. 

“You're nothing if not predictable, son,” Valentine chuckled.

He raised the Soul Sword. 

With a great scream, Downworlders came rushing in, their feet hitting the ground, making Jace shudder.

No. NO. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t, he was still paralyzed. His blood… Valentine’s glee… Something was wrong.

The Sword gleamed. The Downworlders screamed.

Blue-white light shot through the room, through the entire Institute. Jace felt it in his bones, a cleansing, violently hot burst of energy that ran through his entire body. Again, he felt pierced apart by the Angel’s power. This time, it wasn’t as beautiful though.

Around him, agony resounded. Screams of pain, howls from wolves forced out of their wolf forms and into their human ones for moments before their deaths. Seelies crumbling like great trees struck by lightning and bent by wind one too many times. Vampires combusting. Warlocks enveloped in magic that wouldn’t listen to them anymore, strangled and suffocated by their own power.

Death. Destruction. Fear. Pain. 

His father’s smile. 

The Sword’s light disappeared and Clary looked up. The war room was eerily quiet, quiet like the dead, and she knew that the description wasn’t far off. Clary and Simon were the only two people still standing. 

Jace laid on the floor not far from them, and he was still breathing, just knocked out. 

The Downworlders though… They’d come rushing in with such loud shouts of battle, only for them to turn into shouts of pain. And now… Clary looked at the bodies on the floor. 

Seelies with their earth-toned clothing. Vampires, burnt but not dusted. Warlocks, marks bared. Werewolves, some naked from their turn and some clothed. 

“Oh, my God,” she said, unable to stop herself from reacting to the desolation around her. The sight of these bodies made bile rise in her throat. She swallowed it back down. 

Behind her, Simon stood up and she exhaled. “Simon, you're okay.” She’d lain over Simon to protect him, and he moved and breathed, and looked completely okay. The light had not touched him. He was alive. 

He looked around the room, dazed, confused. Horrified. “How? Every other Shadow person in here, they…” He stopped, hesitating to say the horrible words. “They're all dead.”

“I don't know,” Clary whispered.

Had the light reached the outside of the Institute or had it somehow been contained? She didn’t dare to hope that it had, but… Luke, Magnus… 

Simon looked around, frowning. “Where's Valentine?”

Valentine was nowhere to be seen. Not amongst the bodies laying on the ground, for sure, and nowhere else. He’d run off, in the moment it had taken in between the blast and Clary starting to look around. 

“He's gone.”

A groan resounded as Jace started moving again. He coughed and gasped, looking around him with eyes a little lost. The more he saw the scene, the bodies laying there, burnt and dead, the more his face distorted in horror. In guilt.

“Jace.” She’d said his name so many times in the last few minutes that it felt almost foreign in her mouth, losing its meaning. 

The wound on his left hand had stopped bleeding, but it was still red and irritated. It would probably scar. 

“I don't understand,” Jace choked out, his voice hoarse. Maybe he’d screamed earlier. Clary didn’t know if she remembered it correctly. “How did I activate the sword?” 

“Only someone with angel blood could have done it,” Clary said. And then it hit her. 

Valentine had lied. Of course he had. 

“You don't have demon blood, Jace.”

Jace shook his head almost violently. His eyes were red still, and she could see how afraid he was of what that meant. 

They didn’t have time to think. Footsteps resounded and Alec came running into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bodies. He looked up at them, mouth open, and his eyes fixed on Clary. 

“No,” he whispered. “You did this? You activated the sword?”

“I did it,” Jace said. His voice was broken. His shoulders were slumped and everything screamed how absolutely terrible he felt. “I thought I was destroying it, Alec, but…”

Alec held his hand, stopping Jace from saying more. His eyes were wide with fear. Clary realized she’d never seen him look like this. He looked so young, and so afraid. 

“Where's Magnus?” Alec whispered. He was panting. “He wasn't here, was he?”

None of the bodies looked like Magnus’, but Clary realized the last time she’d seen him had been when he’d been talking to Madzie. It had been almost an hour now, maybe more. He could have been in the building still. 

“I... I don't know.” 

Alec shook his head, and started moving away. “Magnus,” he repeated. He wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes unfocused. He was just running. 

Jace called after him, but he didn’t look back.

\-----------------

Meliorn and Luke watched as the light dimmed from inside of the Institute. They watched as the silence of death descended onto it. They watched, and knew that their people were dead.

Alaric. Taito. Every member of the pack that had been there. Luke’s mind was filled with their faces, their names, and everything that he wouldn’t be able to say. They were gone. They were all gone, he knew it in his heart. 

The glow that had escaped the windows couldn’t be anything but the glow of the Soul Sword, the so-called ‘cleansing light of the Angel’. 

“Your Pack,” Meliorn said softly. “May they nourish the Earth for generations.” 

Luke didn’t pay attention to the Seelie condoleances, but he nodded. Nothing made sense. He’d led his pack to slaughter. He’d led so many others too, Meliorn’s people and vampires and warlocks. 

Their blood was on his hands as much as on Clary’s or Valentine’s. 

“Valentine must still have the Sword, Lucian Graymark,” Meliorn continued. “He will try again, this time outside of the walls of the Institute.” 

He was right. Luke grabbed his phone and texted the rest of the pack to stay inside. He would deal with their grief later. He needed to deal with Valentine first. 

He turned to Meliorn. The Seelie watched him with dark eyes. They were full of pain, and Luke still didn’t know exactly how or why, but he had the feeling it would only get worse when Meliorn reported to the Seelie Queen.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said. “I’m sorry for your people.” 

“I know,” Meliorn replied. He grabbed Luke’s shoulder for a moment. “You owe me now, Lucian. You owe me a debt of blood.”

He was one of the few people to still call Luke by his given Shadowhunter name. Today, he found it almost comforting. 

“Go keep Valentine Morgenstern from using the Sword to kill us all,” he continued. “Your debt to me will wait until the executioner is dead.” 

Luke nodded. He clapped Meliorn’s shoulder, and started walking away. 

The scent of Valentine was so familiar to him that it took him mere seconds to find it. His clothes ripped and his bones shattered, and once again he stood proudly as a wolf. Valentine had made him into this, and he would die by the fangs of the wolf he’d made.

Luke started running. The thrill of the chase and the pain of losing his people made his heart beat fast, matching the rapid rhythm of his running.. 

It didn’t take long for Luke to find him. Valentine stood, the Sword raised again, ready to unleash death upon the Shadow Kinds, on the grass of the park in front of the Institute. He looked proud and ready, successful. 

Luke didn’t give him time to turn around. He leapt onto Valentine with all his strength, sending him rolling onto the ground.

He couldn’t help but yelp then. Sharp, aggressive pain bloomed under his ribs, and as he moved, he felt the rigid blade of a dagger in his side. Fuck. He immediately went back to his human form.

Laying on the ground, he looked up at the man he’d once called brother. 

“My parabatai,” Valentine said, breathless. The word had once held so much meaning. The bond between the two of them had been powerful. They’d called themselves David and Jonathan teasingly on some days when they felt particularly in tune.

Now, parabatai meant betrayal, pain, and a knife in his ribs that Luke pulled out, groaning in pain. It wasn’t silver, and it wasn’t a seraph blade. He wasn’t in immediate danger of death. 

Valentine sighed heavily, and he almost looked sad, for a moment. “If only you had stuck with me, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

Luke could only gasp in pain. He hadn’t been this badly injured in a long time. And knowing it was Valentine’s doing… It brought him back to the barn, to the wolves, to hearing the lock close and knowing what he’d done. 

“I always thought this moment would bring me joy,” Valentine continued, and his grip tightened on the Soul Sword in his hand. “But I was wrong.”

As if he loved him still. 

Luke blinked up at him. Valentine raised his hand, preparing to strike, the Sword heavy and long in his hand.

Jace rushed in then, his seraph blade colliding with the Sword with such strength that sparks flew in between the two blades.

Jace was frantic with anger. He watched the man in front of him, the man he called father, the man he loved despite himself and he hated him. He hated him for what he’d done to him. He’d made him slaughter innocent people, dozens of them.

He had spent his life being made into a weapon of slaughter by Valentine. From the blood he’d been given before he was even born, to this very moment, the decade spent training him and breaking every bone in his body until he was a killing machine, until he murdered children his own age and adults twice his size without blinking. All for Valentine’s crusade. 

They wrestled, their two blades madly clinking against each other. Valentine grabbed Jace’s arm and forced him to let go of his seraph blade.

He did, his hands closing over the hilt of the Soul Sword, right next to Valentine’s hands. He growled at him, unable to stop the torrent of pain and anger that was overcoming him. 

“Liar!” Jace snarled. He was inches from Valentine’s face, and he could see his father’s eyes, in all their darkness, watching him, contemptuous almost. “You told me I had demon blood. Why?”

He knew why, deep down. He knew the torturous game Valentine liked to play. He’d been raised desperately trying to be ahead of every twist and turn. He shouldn’t have trusted a word from him. 

“Because I knew you’d… jump at the opportunity to save the day,” Valentine replied. He was smirking. Jace wanted to punch him, but he couldn’t let go of his grip on the Soul Sword. “Because that's how you are. Always ready to right the wrong, to stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves. A real-life hero.”

In Valentine’s mouth, the word hero was like a curse.

“I just made sure Dot overheard me,” Valentine continued. “That's why I left her behind, so you would come to save the day… ” 

Jace’s head was swimming. His body was weaker than he would have liked. He’d activated a couple of runes but it wasn’t enough to counterbalance the blood loss he’d suffered from Simon and then from the cut on his hand. It wasn’t enough to give him back the energy the Sword had taken from him. 

Jace grabbed Valentine’s lapel, teeth bared. He was like a wild dog, the pain and the betrayal burning through his body. 

“And activate the sword instead,” Jace hissed at him. “You didn’t inject me with demon blood. It was angel blood.”

Valentine had let him hate himself for months, only to play in his game. 

“You are my greatest achievement, Jace.”

The pride in his voice made Jace want to puke. It made no sense. The casualness with which he talked about experimenting on him and making him into a monster capable of the worst, ready to kill or die at the drop of the hat...

“I'm not your achievement. I'm your son!” Jace replied. He didn’t like the desperate quality of his voice. He didn’t like the tears and the pain that he was showing this man, because he knew that it would be used against him.

Valentine was silent for a moment, for one beat. “No, you are not my son,” he said finally. It sounded forced, like something was prying those words out of his mouth. It made no sense either. Not his son? “I'm not your father. Jocelyn is not your mother. And Clary... Clary is not your sister.”

No. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t lose Clary the way he’d lost everything else. He couldn’t be alone. No. No. 

“More lies.” 

He prayed that they were lies. He prayed that it wasn’t true. He could feel bile rising at the back of his throat, he could feel his heart stopping in his chest as Valentine opened his mouth again. 

“Don't I wish,” Valentine whispered. “Truth sword, remember?” He said, gesturing at the Sword. 

It was enough for Jace to be distracted. Enough for Valentine to see his grip was loosening on the sword. He shoved Jace back, making him completely lose his grip on the Sword.

Valentine swung the Sword in midair, but Jace dodged it, crouching. When he came back to swing again, he grabbed Valentine’s wrist, and his clothing in the other hand, forcing him to stay close and keeping him from moving away. 

He pulled him closer, until he was able to headbutt him, hard on the head. Valentine stumbled back, confused, and Jace landed a brutal punch in his chest. The Sword was released from Valentine’s hand forcefully and was flown into the distance.

Clary was running in between the decoy tombs, running towards the two men that fought like animals in the dark, deserted square. Jace’s face was unlike anything she’d seen before, a mask of rage and pain, furious vengeance. His lips were curled back, baring his teeth like a dog about to bite. 

They hit each other with the strength of desperation. Grunts and groans of pain, of strain, resounded around them alongside the sickening noises of fists hitting bodies, like a dull thud. 

It was just the two of them, and Clary standing farther away, watching them. She was about to go put herself in between the two and force Valentine to back down when she saw it.

The Soul Sword, laying on the ground, forgotten. 

She grabbed it. She needed to use two hands to pick it up. It was heavy and pulled her down, but she could feel its power radiating through her. The hilt was sticky from Jace’s blood, and perhaps also Valentine’s sweat. 

She held it, steadied herself, but the world didn’t stop looking blurry. Her vision wasn’t working right. She shook her head. It didn’t change. Her vision was so unfocused… 

And suddenly, a point cleared in the middle of the blurriness. 

It came out of nowhere. Floating in mid-air, golden and glittering. It was like a giant stylized H, a rune Clary had never seen. Her eyes widened. It completely filled her vision. She couldn’t get herself to look away from the beautiful blinding light of it.

She didn’t really know what it was… It was like a deletion rune, or cancellation. She didn’t have her stele, she realized. Fuck. What else could she draw the rune with? 

She let her finger slide over the sharp edge of the Sword. The power of it filled her suddenly, deep in her core, and she gasped. She would have let herself be seduced by it, had she not had the rune still burning into her retinas. 

With the blood dripping from her finger, Clary started to draw the rune over the forte of the blade. It burnt red suddenly, a loud hissing noise resounding in her ears. 

Red turned to gold. The glowing runes on the Sword, that had been glowing gold since Jace’s blood had hit them, started to fade. It was quiet and calm, and Clary was surprised that it looked so… underwhelming.

Just as she had that thought, a great rippling started at the tip of the Sword. Dust-like particles started falling from the blade, as if the Sword was shaking off a layer of dead skin. 

The dust reached Clary’s hand. It burned. She let go of the burning metal of the deactivated Sword. It hit the ground loudly. 

Now that she wasn’t holding it anymore, Clary was able to focus on everything that was around her. 

The noise of Jace and Valentine fighting came back to her ears. She looked over at them. 

Jace seemed to be winning. He was landing punch after punch, his blonde hair flying around his head. Under the lights of the street lamps, it shone darker, with sweat and grime from the fighting. His lips were still curled back, his eyes still shining with righteous fury. 

Valentine stumbled back, confused. Jace marched to him and kicked him hard in the chest. Valentine flew back, hitting the ground. 

Clary watched Jace look at their father on the ground, and walk away. He picked up his seraph sword from the floor, and marched back. His face was hard, serious, hateful. His eyes were a bit unfocused.

He spun the sword in his hand, his eyes trained on Valentine. She’d rarely seen him so focused on a target, so ready to kill. It terrified her in a way. Down to her core, she could feel the iciness of fear. Fear of what Jace could be. Fear of what he was right now. 

He couldn’t be like Valentine, so quick to murder. Speaking of Valentine… Valentine still had the Mortal Cup. Clary started running. 

Jace raised his sword, his two hands on the hilt, ready to plunge the sharp point right into their father’s heart. 

Clary felt the scream resound through the silence. “Jace, don't!”

His own scream of anger and brutality was still wretched out of Jace’s throat, animalistic and violent. It made Clary shudder again. Jace had stopped halfway through at her cry, and he still held the sword with a white-knuckled grip. 

His entire body shook with barely restrained violence. He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking down at Valentine with hatred. Hatred and anger and fear too, she could almost feel all of the emotions that made his hands tremble. 

“The Mortal Cup is still out there,” she explained. “He's the only one who knows where it is.”

Jace stilled, suddenly, like he was frozen into place, but he wasn’t moving away from Valentine. He wasn’t moving away, wasn’t putting down the Sword. It was as if he was wrestling with what he should do and what he wanted to do. 

And he wanted to kill Valentine. He was battling against himself now, covered in blood, mostly his own, dirty and exhausted. Shaking from head to toe in pure violence, restrained only by the fact Clary had asked him to stop. Made brutal by yet another string of manipulation and abuse by a man he loved so much it hurt.

For what seemed like hours, Clary could only hear her heartbeat.

He moved eventually, his arms relaxing suddenly, and the sword lowering. Now that his arms weren’t hiding his face, Clary could see the blood and the wounds from fighting with Valentine. 

His brow bone was red and busted. There was blood at the corner of his mouth from lips cracked open and bleeding. He looked dirty and broken. He moved slightly, shifting, the sword in his right hand reaching right above Valentine’s throat.

For a second, Clary believed that he was going to kill him anyway. But he didn’t.

His voice came out of his throat hoarse, aggressive, almost a grunt. “You're gonna wish you were dead after the Clave gets through with you.” 

They had Valentine now, incapacitated and ready to be taken into custody by the Clave. She looked over at where she’d left the Soul Sword, ready to declare victory now that they had the Sword and Valentine but…

It wasn’t there. 

“The sword's gone,” she breathed out. 

Jace looked at her with wide, wild eyes. 

\--------------

Glamoured and quiet, a shadowy figure swung the Soul Sword over his shoulder. 

The grass of the park in front of the Institute crunched under his feet, wet from dew. 

Blood dripped from the blade of the Sword, staining his coat and the grass behind him but he didn’t care. He’d seen Valentine and Jonathan, fighting to the death, he’d seen Clary come and stop Jonathan from throwing the last blow. 

He walked past a body that he knew was alive but didn’t have time or interest to help. A woman, naked and scarred, with dark skin and dark hair and blood seeping from wounds. He could almost taste the blood from her skin and it tasted like wolf.

He kept walking. He’d meet these people again, soon enough. 

\---------------

Jace’s sword put pressure on the back of Valentine’s coat, pushing it in slightly where the point was lightly stabbing him, reminding him that trying to fight would only lead to death. 

He should have felt proud, he guessed, to be bringing in the most wanted enemy to the Clave, at the end of his sword, prisoner. But he didn’t. 

His head was still swimming with what he had been told. He couldn’t think correctly. Whenever he tried to process it all, Valentine’s voice resounded in his head again, the way it had almost nonstop ever since he’d actually said it.

“You are my greatest achievement, Jace.” “You are not my son.”

He was nothing more than an experiment. Not a son. Not family. Not a person, really, just a thing. Just an achievement, a line underneath Valentine’s name. 

Valentine Morgenstern, 

1971 - , 

The Maker of Jace. 

He tried to ignore the searing pain in his heart. It didn’t work. He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. It was as bad as the pain from seeing Michael die in the fire. It was like a thousand agony runes drawn over and over on top of each other. 

The sliding doors of the Institute opened in front of them and Jace pushed Valentine to walk further in. The adrenaline was still singing in his blood but he knew that the second Valentine was out of his sight, he would crash. He just hoped he could make it to a bed beforehand. 

Aldertree was waiting for them, accompanied by two soldiers, both wearing special unit uniforms. They immediately searched and cuffed Valentine. Jace lowered his sword. He could feel just a hint of dizziness catching at the corners of his consciousness.

“A sight to see,” Aldertree said with a smirk, like a cat that had just found a very helpless mouse, and Jace shuddered, just a little. “Valentine Morgenstern in the custody of the Clave, where you will rot for your remaining days.”

Valentine watched Aldertree, quiet, unmoving. It was as if he barely cared about being arrested. 

“Where is the Soul Sword?” Aldertree demanded, voice colder than Jace had ever heard it.

He didn’t like this man. He never had, he’d always been a little… slimy. 

Jace turned to look over at Valentine. There were cuts and bruises over his face too, almost twinning the ones that Jace bore. 

“I have no idea,” Valentine replied. 

Jace would have said he sounded genuine, but nothing that Valentine said sounded genuine now. Every word he’d ever heard from him was fading away to dust, but not the words he’d heard from Michael Wayland’s mouth.

His mind was still refusing to see Valentine and Michael as the same person, despite the fact that they had the same diction, the same way of saying his name. Even if the horrors Jace had suffered under the guise of love were obviously Valentine’s. 

Aldertree smirked again. His eyes were gleaming dangerously. “Our interrogation techniques have improved since you were one of us,” he pointed out. He was… happy? 

Aldertree seemed happy, at least. Happy that he had a victim that wasn’t protected by the Accords, or by everyone’s morals. Valentine was a monster, according to many, even the high-ranking members of the Clave that had aided him, that had been his peers. Monsters didn’t get rights.

Valentine scoffed, quietly and breathily. He was still shaken from the fight. Jace hadn’t exactly gone easy on him. “You can torture me all you want,” Valentine said, almost with bravado. “I don't know where it is.” 

Jace couldn’t help the wave of pain and hatred that curled into his bones at the sight of Valentine, proud almost in front of the fate Jace couldn’t help but feel he deserved.

“Don't believe a word he says,” Jace warned Aldertree. 

He moved, putting himself between Aldertree and Valentine. His sword was still in his hand, but he didn’t raise it. He just stared into Valentine’s eyes, glared, almost. 

“What else have you lied about?” His voice was full of anger again, of violence. He didn’t really have control over his emotions right now. He just hoped he wouldn’t let too many triggers and hidden things slip.

Valentine stared back into his eyes. He was calm. Too calm. 

“One thing I didn't lie about,” Valentine whispered, watching him. He looked vulnerable, almost weak, with eyes that were just a little too humid for Jace to feel comfortable. “Is my love for you, Jace.”

No. Jace wanted to punch him again, but Aldertree was watching. So he didn’t. He just looked at Valentine being led away to the cells.

\---------------

Magnus was running. He didn’t know exactly why. He’d heard about the detonation in the Institute and the deaths. They were already the talk of all of the New York Shadow World. But he knew Alec wasn’t a Shadow person. He knew that the blast wouldn’t have killed him.

And yet he was rushing. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, about him. There were few times where he was as paralyzed by fear as he’d been these past few hours. He didn’t really know what it meant.

He just knew that the idea of Alec dying took his breath away in the worst possible way. He hadn’t felt quite like that since the beginning of his love affair with Camille, back when they were almost strangers to each other’s faults, before the Accords. And now it was Alec that made him feel like his heart was failing him. 

He saw him from afar, a tall dark figure, recognizable amongst thousands. Alec was always easy to see in a crowd, and it wasn’t only because Magnus only had eyes for him these days. He was tall. And very handsome.

Alec was looking around, agitated. The sun had just risen and he seemed disheveled. Magnus rushed to him.

He grabbed Alec’s arm, and Alec whipped around. His eyes were wide, filled with fear so great that Magnus thought he would drown in it.

Alec grabbed him immediately, hard, sudden, arms wrapping around him. Magnus felt almost crushed against Alec’s body but he didn’t care. 

Magnus held him back, just as tight, burying his face in the crook of Alec’s neck. He inhaled. Alec smelled like fear and sweat and his cologne, that Armani one that Magnus knew was a gift from Izzy and that now stained Magnus’ pillows after Alec spent the night. 

Alec pulled back after a moment that was too short, but his hands stayed on Magnus’ arms. He was breathing hard. How long had he been searching for him? Magnus realized it had been an hour or so since the blast, maybe even more. Had Alec thought him dead this entire time?

“Magnus,” Alec breathed out, the name heavy on his tongue. “I thought…” 

Magnus raised his hand a second, letting it fall on Alec’s chest gently. “I found Madzie,” he explained. “I got her out just in time. I took her to Catarina's. She's safe.” 

Magnus wondered if Alec was listening. His eyes were staring at Magnus with an intensity that made him shudder. He was still breathing hard, like his lungs could finally open correctly. Magnus felt the same. He felt lighter now that he could touch Alec, feel his body against his hand. Alive, warm, heart beating in his chest. 

“Look... Magnus,” Alec started finally. “On every mission I've ever been on, I've never felt that type of fear, ever. Not knowing if you were alive or dead. I…” He stopped. In his eyes, Magnus could see the fear he still felt somewhat, as if Magnus would turn to dust in between his fingers. “I was terrified.”

“So was I.” He could still feel the cold hand around his heart. 

Alec’s breath quickened again. It was so heavy and intense that Magnus wondered if he was actually okay. He sounded almost sick. 

“Magnus…” Alec started again. His eyes searched Magnus’ face for something. Magnus didn’t know what it was. “I love you.” 

Those three words shattered something. Magnus didn’t know what but he heard it break, heard the glass falling onto the ground. Alec was watching him still. Now, he was searching for requited feelings, Magnus guessed. 

It wasn’t hard to give them to him. 

“I love you, too.” 

Alec pressed against him, kissing him intensely. Magnus had never been kissed like this before. He’d never been kissed like he was air and Alec was desperate to breathe. He’d never been kissed while his heart felt like it was going to stop with how hard it was beating. 

He’d never been… grabbed at like this. And he was so happy about it that he could barely stand it. 

\-------------

Simon walked through the Institute. The sight of the bodies made him want to puke. He’d thought that, after the cemetery battle, after he’d killed a girl with his bare hands, that he would be hardened to the sight of bodies like this.

But one battle didn’t make a hardened warrior out of anyone. The Shadowhunters only had harsh and firm faces from hundreds of hunts and battles and training sessions. They weren’t like this naturally. Clary herself, though she was growing colder with training, was still incredibly filled with expression. 

A dark-eyed, braided-haired Shadowhunter walked past Simon. She didn’t look like she cared about anything that was going on. 

Simon made his way into the ops room. It was where the worst of the damage was. The blast had hit the mass of Shadow people that had rushed into it to kill Valentine. And they were all lying on the ground, dead.

Their skin was reddened and burnt on their faces. Werewolves were all frozen in a half-Turned manner, lips curled back on a set of teeth and fangs that didn’t look right in a human face. 

He’d been searching for Maia’s body, somewhat. The last thing he’d heard from her had been before Izzy had taken her into custody. There were signs of battle in the cells, Circle members torn to shreds there, but there was no sign of Maia’s body. He’d tried calling her, before he’d found her phone in the cell. 

So now, he was just walking through the Institute. 

Simon was looking at the bodies, feeling a little useless, when he saw a familiar face. 

Alaric. Luke’s Beta and his partner in the NYPD. He and Simon hadn’t had the easiest relationship, even when Simon was still mundane and oblivious to the Shadow World. He didn’t know exactly why. They had just never gotten along. 

It was going to be hard for Luke to handle. Losing Alaric, after he’d just lost Jocelyn? Simon felt a tinge of worry for the older man. 

He’d seen Luke been taken in earlier, to be patched up for a wound he’d sustained while battling Valentine. He didn’t know how Luke would take it. He would probably have to break the news to him at some point.

He pushed the man’s eyelids close. No one deserved a fate like this one.

He stood back up, slowly, and turned.

Sunlight caught his eyes. 

Simon instinctively brought his hands up, waiting for the searing pain that always came with sunlight shining directly down on his skin, but it didn’t come. 

He slowly lowered his arms. Nothing happened. The sun was shining directly on him, but by some sort of miracle… he wasn’t burning.

“What the Hell?” 

\----------------------

The dust had settled on the Institute and Clary had finally caught her breath. She sat at the edge of the infirmary bed Luke had been settled on, trying desperately not to lay down and nap. 

She’d seen her face earlier, the dark shadows under her eyes. She looked gaunt with exhaustion, a result of the screaming and crying and fear she’d just been through in the last day. In between the curse and this, it was like the night had lasted weeks. 

The iratze had not erased the light scar on her finger from the Soul Sword’s edge, as it normally would have. She didn’t know why, exactly, but she now bore another mark of angelic power. 

Luke was laying there, half asleep, and it was strange to see him so... vulnerable. God, she was so exhausted she could cry. Relieved too. Valentine was in custody, and he would never get close to her again.

She was still thinking of the way he’d grabbed her and forced her close to the Sword, his voice in her ear telling her that he was doing this for her. It was wrong. 

Luke shifted a little, his eyes fluttering open. He was okay. Seeing him wake up brought a wave of overwhelming relief into Clary’s mind, and she couldn’t help the tears that stung her eyes.

“Luke,” she breathed out, her hand taking his. 

He turned his head slowly towards her. His lips parted, and he swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength and clarity to speak.

“Tell me we got him.”

Clary’s breath hitched a little. “Yeah,” she whispered. A tear fell down her cheek.

Luke smiled softly. He still looked out of it, and she hoped he would go back to resting soon. He’d been given a sedative, but maybe his wolf metabolism was getting rid of it quicker than expected.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, softly. 

Luke had a small huff. “Better now that you're okay and Valentine's locked up.”

Clary nodded, smiling a little. 

Someone came up behind her, and a familiar voice found her ears. “Oh, no.”

It was Simon. She turned to him a moment.

“Luke, are you okay?” Simon asked.

There was no answer. Clary looked back to her father for a moment. He was right back asleep. She chuckled quietly. 

“He's been sedated,” she said out loud, so Simon wouldn’t worry too much. 

Simon gently touched the back of her shoulder, saying her name quietly. He seemed to be buzzing with energy, and she didn’t really know what that was about. 

“I know it's not a good time,” he started. She raised an eyebrow. She was so exhausted she could barely think. “But there's something I have to show you.”

“Sure,” she muttered, and he immediately grabbed her hand, and started dragging her through the Institute.

He was obviously forcing himself not to run at full vampire speed. 

They dashed through the Institute, down the stairs and towards the main door. 

“What are you doing?” Clary asked, feeling panic rush inside of her once again as he opened the door to the outside of the Institute. “The sun's up, you can't…”

He threw himself into the sunlight, and she felt like her heart stopped beating.

But he didn’t scream. He wasn’t burning. 

Relief flooded her. 

Everything was okay, right now. And… Simon could walk in daylight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following this fic throughout the month! Shadowhunters 2.0. will go back on hiatus while I write 2B! Tune in in 2021 for the next installment, Shadowhunters 2.0. - Trial. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Don't forget to check the wiki for the rewrite if you want to: sh20fic.fandom.com!
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM

**Author's Note:**

> If you're in the mood for a chat, you can come shout at me in my inbox on tumblr @enkelimagnus! OR you can @ me/DM me on twitter @enkelimagnus!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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